


Worth

by Spades813



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A lot of Jamilton banter, Alexander Hamilton Being an Asshole, Alexander is a struggling immigrant without an education, Alexander is an aspiring author, Alexander is sassy, Alexander isn't docile he's mouthy as fuck, Alexanderhamiltonxthomasjefferson, All the smutty stuff later on, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Sex, Benjamin Franklin is pure, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Business, Coffee, Colorful insults, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Hate Sex, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Jamilton - Freeform, Jealous Thomas, Lafayette is so supportive, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Publishing Company, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, The writing isnt terrible at first its just not great either, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Thomas Jefferson with slightly sadistic tendencies, Thomas makes Alexander's life hell, Thomasjeffersonxalexanderhamilon, Top Thomas Jefferson, Writing gets better as the story progresses, future smut, lots of banter, mutual hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-03-09 10:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spades813/pseuds/Spades813
Summary: Alexander Hamilton moves to New York City as a young upstart, desperate to climb the corporate ladder through his superior way with words.Without a proper education that comes with being a poor immigrant in modern day America, he's forced to work in one of New York's many cafes while he dreams of being able to work as the top editor he knows he can be and the published author he wants to be. Anything at all to prove his worth.When he lands his dream job at one of NYC's most prestigious publishing houses, however, he finds that he'll be working with that elitist, asshole customer that he met at the cafe known as Thomas Jefferson. The smug fuckwit is intent on kicking him down the ladder farther than he's ever been.He has something to prove, he has nothing to lose.-Jamilton Fanfic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!

A/N: I got tired of there not being many Jamilton fanfics sooooo yeah. This happened.

Disclaimer: Don't own the “characters.”

XxxXxxXxx

Living in New York wasn't as easy as Alexander Hamilton had hoped it would be. At the ripe age of 22 he had collected just enough money to afford a plane ride to the big apple from his small town in Nevis. Everything that had occured back in his Caribbean home left his thoughts plagued. He just wanted to get away. However, he didn't plan past getting to New York. Getting granted citizenship was another story entirely. 

So here he was. The great Alexander Hamilton that was practically born with stars in his eyes and a fire in his belly to prove himself- working as a penniless waiter in one of the numerous cafes that dotted the street corners of New York City. 

Don't misunderstand. He was penniless in Nevis too, but now he was a servant and still penniless. What joy. 

Alexander didn't exactly mind his job, it just wasn't ideal. He knew he could achieve so much more and seeing people come in to Liberty Cafe with three-piece suits and flashy jewelry every day reminded him of that. The young man longed to have the status that these slaving away office workers had even if half of them were most likely depressed and the other half in denial about their depression. 

He could make it work though, but who would hire an immigrant straight from Nevis without any proper education? Alexander had his heart set on Columbia University, but he simply did not have the funds for it and even though he was an exceptional writer no one was willing to take their chances on him and grant him a scholarship. 

His only option was to go straight into the workforce and it wasn't proving to be easy at all.

But, hey. It could be so much worse.

With his current job he had just enough money to pay his rent for a small, hole in the wall apartment in Manhattan. He was pretty sure his landlord was a drug dealer and his neighbor was a prostitute, but he chose to ignore those factors. The rent was cheap enough and that's what mattered. At the very least he befriended someone in his apartment complex, one John Laurens. He made living there slightly more bearable.

Being a waiter his work never came home with him and he loved that. It gave him all of the time in the world to write his novel. He had been working on it even back in Nevis, but he found that it kept changing. Moving to New York City gave him such inspiration.

Alexander typed away on his phone, with his tongue poking slightly out between his lips. He was completely and utterly focused on writing a crucial scene when he was pulled out of his thoughts by a ring.

He ignored it, feeling his heart race along with the intensity of the scene. The words were flowing easily and he didn't want it to stop-

Ring. Ring ring.

Ringringringring- 

Alexander's head shot up and searched for the source of the noise. His eyes were met with a tall man standing across from him, leaning forward against the counter with a bored expression. Despite Alexander acknowledging him, the man continued to ring the service bell repeatedly while holding full eye contact with him.

Was this guy serious?

Alexander quickly pocketed his phone and pulled a stretched smile onto his lips that his boss, Lafayette, always reminded him to have when customers were around. Even if the smile was painfully fake.

It was then that Alexander got a better look at the excessive ringer. The nuisance was wearing a nauseating magenta vest over a white button down accompanied by a black tie and slacks. Over the man's shoulders was a thick, black winter coat that was obviously of high quality. Probably some sort of designer brand. Whatever it was it definitely rivaled Alexander's thin hoodie that he bore during the winter months. 

As for the man's physical features he had a strong jaw, cocoa powder colored skin, and poofy dark hair that matched his eyes. Alexander would consider the man possibly handsome if the pompous man wasn't giving him such a look.

“You know,” Alexander began with the fake smile stretched eerily from ear to ear, “it only takes about two rings.”

The stranger clicked his tongue and stopped leaning against the counter, instead standing to his full height which made him tower over Alexander naturally.

“Not when you've been sitting at a table waiting to be waited on for,” the stranger checked the watch on his wrist that was no doubt real gold, “about 15 minutes? While your incompetent waiter has been sitting on his phone texting the entire time.”

Alexander immediately bristled, clenching his jaw. He already hated this self entitled asshole. The immigrant raised his chin and was about to make a sharp retort when he realised he probably really shouldn't have been on his phone at work. Lafayette was very lenient with him and he didn't want that to change.

Instead, Alexander opted to say, “I wasn't texting, but my apologies, sir. What can I get you?”

He just had to remain calm and polite. That should be easy enough. 

The man rolled his eyes and began to take out his wallet, “Right. Well, I would like a grande extra hot soy with extra foam, split shot with a half squirt of sugar-free vanilla and a half squirt of sugar-free cinnamon, a half packet of splenda. Oh and put that in a venti cup and fill up the "room" with extra whipped cream with caramel and chocolate sauce drizzled on top. I will also like one of your croissants and make sure it's fresh. Do it quick and I'll consider giving you the tip that you lost from making me wait.”

Never mind. He felt a burning hatred towards this man's very soul. It was just now that he heard the man's slight southern accent. Alexander started putting together this man's backstory in his head. Probably rich from daddy's money back home in Alabama, sheltered life, and everything handed to him.

He knew it was unfair to judge a book by its cover, but being an author it was a habit of his. People watching was one of his favorite past times. It gave him such inspiration for characters.

Alexander could already see himself adding this man into a story just to kill him off in the most gruesome way he could think of.

Ok, maybe that was a little too dark of him…

Alexander stiffened and keeping his jaw clenched tight he rang up his order and muttered a quick “right away, sir” and began to make the insufferable drink for the man. He wasn't even completely sure if he was doing it correctly. Imagine that. Someone as bright as himself getting stumped by a coffee order. 

“Name?” Alexander asked, keeping his tone as disinterested as the stranger appeared to be.

The man's stone expression finally cracked into a small smirk, “Jefferson.” 

“Perfect name for a jerk,” Alexander mumbled under his breath as he quickly scribbled it onto the coffee cup.

Jefferson was making his way over to one of the many vacant tables (it was still very close to opening time- hardly anyone was in there) when he stopped short. “Excuse me?” he turned around with a single eyebrow raised.

Alexander plucked a fresh croissant from the pile under the glass display and placed it onto a plate, “I said your order is ready, sir,” he said, keeping the innocent, sickly sweet smile plastered onto his face.

Jefferson stared at him for a moment, regarding him closely. Alexander was sure that Jefferson probably heard what he actually said. The man's mouth turned down into a frown as he slipped out a couple of dollar bills and placed them on the counter, “This should be enough to buy yourself some manners.” 

He then took the hot cup of atrocities and the plate with the croissant into his hands and left to his table while Alexander wished he could have threw the hot beverage in his face.

The smaller man glared at the back of Jefferson's head, trying more than to burn a hole in it. He wouldn't stop glaring until Jefferson's whole body burst into flames.

Now, Alexander knew he was brash and had issues with holding his tongue, but he usually didn't get quite this angry with someone he had just met. Yet, here he was already planning the other's demise in a short story he would write later when he got home.

He was disrupted from his thoughts when his boss came out from the back of the cafe. The Frenchman was whistling an upbeat tune to himself as he joined Alexander at the front. Lafayette was always a morning person. It was both remarkable and sickening.

At seeing Alexander's pissed demeanor, Lafayette stopped his whistling and looked to the younger man with a tinge of concern, “Mon ami, what is the matter?”

Alexander shook his head and began to make himself useful by cleaning off the counters, “Just rude customers is all,” he grumbled under his breath.

Lafayette’s brow quirked as he looked around the small cafe. The Frenchman’s eyes immediately landed on Jefferson.

“Oh? Was it him by chance?” Lafayette inquired, gesturing to the man who was sat on his phone while nibbling away at the pastry.

“Yeah? How did you guess that right away?” 

Lafayette sighed, “Thomas is known to be a little rude, but he is a good man. Don't pay him much mind, mon petite lion.”

Alexander scoffed, “How do you know?”

“I knew him when I was back in France. We attended university together and came here to New York around the same time. He is...a friend of mine, I would say,” Lafayette mused with a fond smile. 

With a squint of disbelief, Alexander glanced back over to Jefferson. Probably feeling the eyes on him, Jefferson looked up from his coffee and made eye contact with him. Alexander quickly looked away while Jefferson's gaze turned to Lafayette who gave him a warm wave.

“Ah, Lafayette!” Jefferson stood up from his seat and made his way over to them, throwing his garbage into the trash can as he passed, “I didn't know you were running a cafe now? I quite like the ambiance to it that you brought from France. Too bad your staff is a little challenged.”

Before Alexander could hop over the counter and strangle Jefferson to the ground, Lafayette circled around it and gave Jefferson a warm hug. The Frenchman kissed both of his cheeks, “Nonsense! Alexander is my best waiter; he's such a hard worker.”

Jefferson embraced his old friend in return, but over Lafayette’s shoulder he held Alexander's glare that was trained on him. “Is that so? It took him forever to wait on me. He was far too busy with his trivial cell phone at the time.”

This made Alexander's blood reach its boiling point, “Hang on-!”

Lafayette waved dismissively at Alexander as he pulled back from his and Jefferson's hug, “Alexander was probably working on his book, non? He's always working at it every spare moment he has. All though, he does space out a little when he's writing.”

Lafayette gave him a coy smile accompanied by a wink, but Alexander also knew it was a small warning without any malice behind it. After all, Lafayette was his boss and Alexander needed to remind himself when it was appropriate to write and when it wasn't. 

Choosing to stay silent, Alexander's shoulders slouched in understanding, “Speaking about that, Laf, I was wondering if I could leave a bit early today towards the end of my shift? I have an interview with a publishing company.”

Suddenly, Jefferson spoke up, “Which one?”

Alexander's eyebrows knitted together, “Mount Vernon’s Publishing.” 

Why did he care? 

It was then that Alexander could have sworn he saw a twinkle in the others eyes, but as soon as it was there- it was gone. 

Weird.

“Interesting. Well, I must be going. The day awaits after all,” Jefferson's lips twitched back into a sly smirk, “See you around, Alexander.”

Just as Jefferson was about to leave out of the cafe doors, Alexander spoke up.

“That's Hamilton to you.”

Jefferson's smirk grew into a grin as he replied with a mocking tone from earlier, “Perfect name for a pipsqueak.”

So Jefferson had heard him earlier.

Before Alexander could tackle him, Lafayette wrapped his arms around his waiter’s waist and Jefferson was already out the door.

A/N: Let me know if you would like me to continue this! I want to, but reviews/comments will give me more incentive


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander attends his job interview and something ruins his joy.

A/N: Back again with the next chapter! Enjoy folks!

Disclaimer: don't own the “characters.”

XxxxXxxxX

Squeezing the strap connected to his satchel until his knuckles turned white, Alexander clenched his teeth and tried to keep his shivering at bay. It was no use with only a thin hoodie over his form.

Luckily, Lafayette had accepted his request and he was able to leave early. With this Alexander was supplied with enough time to return home and get dressed into the nicest clothes that he owned: a white button down, black slacks and tie, and slightly scuffed dress shoes.

It was no suit, but it would have to do. 

As Alexander paced quickly towards the large office building that was essentially a skyscraper, he prayed his appearance was passable. He didn't have time to take a shower so his dark, greasy hair was pulled back into a low bun and his facial scruff remained helplessly untidy. Normally he would worry about the dark purple bags under his eyes, but no amount of scrubbing would do away with those as he had come to learn. When they first appeared he had hoped that it was like removing a marker stain. However, he was disappointed to find out all those years ago that it was from his terrible sleeping habits instead of an accidental smudge of ink.

Practically diving into the revolving doors, he held his hands close to his mouth and puffed warm air onto them in an attempt to warm them up. It was to no avail. Alexander stepped out of the revolving door into the lobby that was nothing short of grand. All of the seats were black, the floors white and polished to the point they reflected, glistening chandeliers over hanged, and anything that was a surface seemed to be made out of an expensive marble.  


Alexander's dress shoes clicked on the shiny floor as he made his way over to one of the waiting chairs. He pulled his satchel’s strap over his head and sat it down on the chair. After he placed it down he peeled his hoodie off over himself- regrettably so. He still wasn't warmed up, but the ratty hoodie made his age show even more and what was the point of attempting to dress nice if it was covered?

Quickly he stashed the hoodie into his bag and slinged its strap back over his head as he approached the reception desk. The lady at the desk was absolutely gorgeous. Her skin was a light shade of cocoa while her hair was dark and in a ringlet fashion. The perfect combination.

It took a second for her to realise someone was standing before her, twiddling their thumbs. She slowly looked up from her computer and parted her lips, “yes?”

Alexander snapped out of his trance with a shake of his head, “Oh, um, I'm here for an interview with Mr. Washington?” 

The woman hummed and turned her head back to the computer screen. With a few taps on the keyboard she inquired, “Alexander Hamilton for the 12:30 time slot?”

In return he gave a curt nod and grasped at his satchel even tighter. This woman's dismissiveness really wasn't helping his nerves. The young man could only hope that Mr. Washington wasn't going to brush him off as such. 

The woman finally stood up from her chair and grabbed a piece of paper. Plucking a pen from a cup holding a lot of them, she began to write down on it right in front of Alexander's face. Just as he was making an attempt to see under her hand what she was writing, the paper was being thrust into his face.

“These are the instructions to get to his office. I would have just told you them, but no one ever remembers,” she gave an annoyed sigh, “Take the elevator behind me up to the 7th floor and go from there.”

Without even being able to mutter a thank you because she immediately turned her attention back to her task at hand, Alexander took that as his cue to leave. Doing as she instructed he hopped into the elevator and hit the 7th floor button.

While he had this moment to himself he used it to calm his breathing and in the back of his mind he hoped he wasn't uncontrollably sweating and just hadn't noticed it yet. At least listening to the annoying and mundane elevator music was sort of soothing in its own way.

He knew he could do this. He just had to trust in his own abilities and hope his speech wouldn't fail him. He wouldn't let himself throw away this shot.

Luckily, no one joined him in the elevator on his way up to the 7th floor. When he got there, he hesitantly stepped out and felt much like a child who had just stepped into an office building instead of a grown man looking for a job. He was glad to find that no one was staring at him at least. They all seemed too busy being caught up in their light banter or with their work.

Alexander looked down at the slip of paper the gorgeous, but slightly intimidating woman had given him. It said to take a left and then a right and his office was the 4th door down. The instructions seemed simple enough. 

What could be the worst that could happen? Probably getting lost and missing the interview. Or walking into the wrong person's office.

Ignoring his pessimistic thoughts, Alexander followed the directions to a T with his head down the entire time. He wound up at the correct door with a plaque on the front adorning in golden lettering “Washington.”

Alexander was about to knock on the door with the slightest touch when he shook his head.

‘No’ he told himself.

This was a job interview and a sales pitch with a corporate company. He couldn't seem meek and frightened. Alexander knew how assertive and arrogant he could be and he just had to use that to his advantage. Inhaling some courage into his lungs, Alexander knocked twice onto the door. It wasn't a loud or soft knock. It was perfect.

Now if only he could get the job by knocking. From books that he had read he found that people pay attention to all of these small details when looking to hire a new employee. They want a show of confidence and adequateness. 

“Come in,” Alexander heard a warm voice say from behind the door. Without a moment's hesitation he grabbed the cool handle in his hand and opened the door.

He was met with a man sitting behind a large mahogany desk that was littered with picture frames and scattered papers. The walls of the office were covered in hangings of achievements or patriotic snippets. Impressive, really.

The man behind the desk looked just as warm and inviting as his voice was. His skin was smooth, teeth perfectly white, and his eyes kind. Washington didn't seem to match Alexander's idea of an every day New Yorker. He smiled at Alexander and gestured for him to come in.

“Come on, come on. Have a seat,” he encouraged.

Alexander nodded and circled over to one of the lush, burgundy colored chairs that were in front of the desk. He sat down and tried to keep his posture correct in an attempt to make himself look more put together and taller than he was.

Washington glanced down at the papers on his desk. He read them with a hum and his eyebrows furrowed. Then, his eyes flicked up to meet Alexander's, “It says that you're here for a conference about the book you sent us as well as for a job interview. Is that correct?” 

Alexander gave him a stiff nod, “Yes, sir.”

Washington bent down under his desk and retrieved a large manuscript with a title on the front in bold letters saying “Worth.”

He held it up to the younger man, “I believe this is the book you sent to us?” After Alexander gave a confirming nod, Washington continued as he flipped through the manuscript absent mindedly, “I have read it and I do enjoy it quite a lot, actually. Of course it will need a few modifications, but none too large or outlandish. It seems you have only sent the first couple of chapters though…?” Washington drawed off, looking for an answer.

“I haven't quite finished it yet, but I'm close to finishing it,” Alexander spoke with determination.

Giving a nod in understanding, Washington said, “Well, you have to finish it before we can really discuss it. However, I do look forward to seeing more from you,” he gave the young man a small smile that made the rest of Alexander's nerves almost dissipate.

Already Washington seemed to be a man that Alexander could see himself coming to appreciate. This meeting wasn't like the others he had experienced in New York City. Many of the people he met with always cut him short for not having an education or because he was an immigrant. He could always practically see the sneer in their eyes.

“Now, I see that you also applied for a job with us, Mr. Hamilton. I must ask, though- why did you leave the education section of the application blank?” He asked with a quirked eyebrow, making the air immediately slightly tense.

Alexander felt his mouth go instantly dry and the nerves seep back into his system. He knew the moment he explained himself he would be turned away without a moment's hesitation. That's always how this went for him.

“Well, you see, sir, I grew up on a very small island in the Caribbean. There weren't many opportunities to get a good formal education, but my writing did help me earn passage to the United States. I just never really had enough money to receive the proper education that this job asks for…” he trailed off and he could already see Washington's smile faltering. Alexander knew he had to sell this.

Think, Alexander. Think.

In that moment, he let his true self fully shine through and no longer held back.

“But that doesn't mean I'm not qualified. I know I have a firm grasp of the English language to be a great editor. I understand most people are weary to give an uneducated immigrant a chance, but I know I can do this. I used to work as a financial advisor back in Nevis and the business was very successful. I also did some time as a secretary for another corporation that was a sister company. If you give me a chance here I will prove myself to be more worth my position than anyone,” Alexander sat on the edge of his seat (practically standing by this point with excitement etched into his voice), using hand gestures to convey his message further, “If I fall short of your expectations I would expect nothing less than termination and I would understand,” Alexander spoke from the heart. Towards the end of his spiel his voice was barely above a whisper and he was slumped back into his chair.

For a good moment, Washington stared at Alexander's face. The young man could practically see the wheels turning in the others head- trying to think about what to do.

“Where do you work now?” Washington inquired.

Alexander looked up from where he was staring down at his hands, “Oh, um, Liberty Cafe.”

Washington was silent, seemingly pondering something. Then he gave a nod and continued slowly, "I've been there before...they have great desserts." The man seemed to rid himself of his thoughts and shifted back to his previous tone, "Well, you'll have to tell your current employer you'll have to resign because you have the job, son.”

Practically frozen, Alexander stared at the other with his mouth almost wide open in disbelief. He didn't even take mind to being called ‘son.’

“Really?” 

Washington stood and strode around his desk to him with confident strides that a corporate president would be expected to have, “Yes, I'm going to start you off as an assistant editor. You'll still be an editor of sorts, but you'll be more or less helping your higher ups for now. It's only until I'm sure you can handle being an editor full time. For the first couple of months I'm going to pay you 13.75 dollars an hour and then we'll go from there until you're promoted to annually.”

Alexander beamed, he shot up from his seat and almost wrapped his arms around the other man in a tight embrace, but he restrained himself. He stuck out his hand with a wide smile which the other man accepted and they shook hands. Alexander shook maybe a little too excitedly making Washington give a small chuckle.

“I won't make you regret this!” Alexander's smile stretched possibly even wider. 

Washington patted him on his back, withdrawing his hand and picked up a clipboard, “Come in on Monday at 7:50 am ready to work. In the meantime I'll find an editor in need of assistance,” he spoke as he started marking things down, “Also you may want to invest in some business clothes if you don't have a good amount already. About three or four outfits should do. Sadly our dress code isn't business casual.”

Alexander nodded in understanding, “Anything else I need to know?”

“No, I think that is all. See you on Monday, son.”

His lips twitched into a smile he couldn't contain as he left the office. As soon as the door was closed securely behind him he did a little mini fist pump for himself in front of all his soon to be coworkers.

He didn't care if they saw. Alexander couldn't contain his excitement one bit! Wait until John and Lafayette heard about this. He knew Lafayette would be a little disappointed to lose him, but Lafayette had been supportive and cheering him on every time he went to a job interview. The Frenchman also comforted him every time he came back to the cafe with a decline.

With a pep to his step, Alexander went back to the elevator that was much more busy now- he assumed because the doors weren't opening right away like last time when he had pressed the button. He hummed to himself, barely noticing there was someone standing behind him waiting for the elevator too.

When the doors finally did open a woman stepped off of them and stalked past Alexander. Once the elevator was clear he stepped into it and pressed the button for the ground floor. An arm reached over his shoulder and pressed another button for a different floor. He had assumed it must have been the man standing behind him earlier that was waiting.

When Alexander turned around from the panel his heart nearly shot from his chest to his toes.

“Hey there, Pipsqueak. I thought I'd see ya around here sometime today. What's wrong?” Jefferson tilted his head to the side and gazed down at him with a stretched smirk, “Cat got your tongue?”

XxxxXxxxX

A/N: 

Whoop whoop! Another one done! Poor, Alexander, always in the eye of a storm. Favorite, review, and/or follow please! Lemme know if you'd like to see anything in this?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summaries are spoilers so you're not getting one ; )

A/N: Back agaaaain. Not much to say other than enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own the “characters”.

XxxXxxXxx

Life never seemed to be simple in the least for him. Everytime Alexander felt safe and grounded for just a miniscule moment, life always had a way in its endless mischievousness to pull a rug out from underneath his feet. It just wasn't fair, but he was beginning to expect nothing less. 

As Alexander stared up into the eyes of the man clad in nauseating magenta, the pieces of the puzzle began to connect inside his head.

This was why Jefferson seemed so interested where he was having an interview with a publishing company. The worst part of this whole situation was the fucker failed to mention to him that he worked at said publishing company. 

He couldn't let this affect his happiness. He wouldn't let this affect it. 

The immigrant whipped back around to the panel of buttons and began jamming the “ground floor” button repeatedly within an inch of its life. As if mashing the button nonstop would make the elevator move any faster to his destination.

At seeing Hamilton's reaction, Jefferson let out a disapproving snort, “You're going to break it and then you’ll be stuck in here longer, you know?”

That was enough to make him stop bullying the panel button entirely. 

He spun back around on his heel with his nostrils flared in irritation and his fists tightly clenched at his sides, “What the Hell are you doing here?!”

Jefferson put his weight back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, regarding Alexander with an amused glint in his eye that was almost calculating, “I happen to work here, Pipsqueak. What about you?” Jefferson pushed himself off the wall and leaned ever so close that their noses almost touched. “Did you make the cut with ole Washington?” 

The immigrant would be lying if he said he didn't gaze into those deep, dark chocolate eyes that were so close they felt like they were boring into his very soul. 

If only the eyes didn't belong to such a pompous fuckwit.

Alexander backed up with a sneer, putting much needed distance between them as a light flush made its way across his cheeks, “Screw off, Trust Fund.”

Jefferson stood back up to his full height and pretended to think thoughtfully, gazing at the ceiling, “You didn't make the cut? Hm, well, Washington always looks for a certain degree of refinement in his employees,” his eyes flicked back down to meet his, “Don't take it personally, Welfare.”

Alexander didn't just see red at that moment. He practically saw flashes of Armageddon in his head. The two men sat in painful silence as the elevator ticked down the floors of the office building.

Jefferson could do nothing else but watch as Alexander's face contorted into a range of emotions. As soon as “welfare” left his mouth the hurt that crossed the immigrant’s face was clear as day. It felt like Jefferson had actually spat the word at him and left it stained on his shirt in bold lettering for everyone to see.However, the hurt was quickly replaced by blind rage. The shorter man's breath became deep and ragged as his fists trembled, just itching to wrap around Jefferson's throat and squeeze tight. 

Every assumption Alexander had made previously about Jefferson proved to be correct. This man was an entitled, born with a silver, jewel embedded spoon in his mouth, pompous, and unafraid to deliver insults that weren't meant to outwit or tease- only to be quick and sharp like a sword.

Meant to wound.

He could have sworn he saw a look of regret cross Jefferson's face, but he didn't care. Ever since he came to the United States this was the sort of mentality he put up with on the daily.

As Alexander glared up at him with the intention to kill, he thought of multiple things to do to express his rage. The first being to punch the jackass’s perfect, bleached white teeth down his throat, but something made him reconsider. Washington took a chance on him so he could prove himself to be a respectable employee worthy of the company's time and money. Alexander would not let that man down. 

Calming down the fire burning in his stomach, Alexander sucked in a deep breath while still maintaining full, intense eye contact, “It's great that I didn't get the job, so I'll never have to see your elitist, Southern Hick self ever again.”

With that the elevator door finally opened with a ding at just the right moment and Alexander slipped out of the suffocating room as quickly as humanly possible. At that moment he was just so glad to be away from Jefferson that he could thank every single God in existence whether he believed them to be real or not.

He didn't understand why Jefferson was so adamant on insulting him at every turn. Maybe Jefferson took his time and coffee too seriously and was out to destroy him for screwing with it.

XxxxXxxxXxxx

Thomas didn't understand it either. 

He knew he loved to get under people's skin, make them uncomfortable and squirm under his words, but he took a particular liking to doing it to Hamilton. Thomas had only met the kid that morning, so why was he being like this?

To be fair, he did slightly regret saying that last comment to Hamilton. Only slightly though. The thought of apologizing had crossed his mind, but he decided against it in the end.

Thomas shook away his thoughts and made his way to the break room to grab his lunch from the fridge. The break room was relatively nice compared to most at past companies he had worked for. It was completely furnished with a stove/oven, a coffee maker, a fridge, and a microwave. Anything a employee may need, really.

Much to the Southerner’s delight, his prized friend James Madison was in the corner of the break room struggling with the microwave.

The usually quiet man was letting out a string of curses as he jammed at the microwave’s release latch.

Thomas chuckled to himself and strode over to his friend. He reached over James's shoulder and punched the latch, effectively releasing the door. James jumped and spun around, placing a small smile on his lips once he recognized who had come to his rescue, “Hello, Thomas.”

“Hello, Jemmy. I see you're struggling with the microwave as usual,” Thomas drawled as he pulled open the fridge door and scanned it's contents for his leftover, homemade macaroni and cheese. He swore to himself if someone stole it again there would be hell to pay. If he had to resort to placing a security camera in the break room he would. Macaroni and cheese theft was to be taken seriously.

Finally, his eyes landed on the purple Tupperware container jammed into the back of the fridge. Fishing it out, he began whistling an upbeat tune to himself as he circled over to one of the many empty tables and took a seat. Thomas made quick work of popping the lid off and digging into his cold meal with one of those disposable plastic forks that snap with little effort.

James looked on at his friend eating the cold macaroni in disgust. Thomas preferred it cold, though, after it was already hot before. The short man quickly grabbed his soup from the microwave and joined his friend at the table.

For a moment, James just eyed his friend as he blew cooling breaths onto his soup. Something was definitely off about Thomas today. He seemed...delighted. 

Thomas stopped eating his noodles for a split second to meet his friends eyes, “What?” 

“You seem in a good mood today. Did you knock a child's ice cream out of their hands ‘accidentally’?” James chuckled. Thomas, of course, would never do such a thing, but James wouldn't put it past him. His friend's slightly sadistic tendencies weren't beyond him. 

Thomas rolled his eyes with a snort, “Dear Jemmy, you give me no credit. Do you think me a monster? Someone that only takes joy in others misfortune?”

Without a moment's hesitation, he retorted, “Yes.”

Thomas held up his hands in mock defense, “All right, all right. Remember that little coffee runt I told you about this morning?”

“The one whose morning you ruined? Yes, I do. Continue.”

Thomas scoffed, “He ruined my morning. Anyways, he had an interview with Washington today. I ran into him in the elevator on my way down here and I asked him how it went, but he rather rudely said he didn't get the job.”

“Probably for the best,” James commented around a spoonful of soup in his mouth.

“What do you mean?” Thomas’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit.

“If he had gotten the job here you would make his life hell. Speaking of Washington, he called for a meeting at 2 o'clock today for us editors.”

Thomas raised a brow, “What for? I thought everything has been running smoothly according to last meeting.”

James simply offered a small shrug, “I'm not sure.”

XxxxXxxxXxxx

Alexander made his way back to his apartment with a multitude of thoughts buzzing around his head. His mind always felt felt this way, like a food court with all of its conversations fighting his ears for attention. Except now his thoughts were centered around his new job and Jefferson who was the last person Alexander wanted to be thinking about.

He was beyond thrilled about being hired, but he didn't want to deal with that jerk ever again. One thing was sure, though. Alexander would never ever let Jefferson see that his insults got to him again. For now on whatever Jefferson dealt to him he would throw back with twice the amount of force. 

Sighing to himself, he unlocked his apartment door after fiddling a bit with the key. Once the door was open he took in the familiar sight with a fond smile. It wasn't much at all, but it was home to him now and it was all his. That was all that mattered.

The three room apartment wasn't really that bad. The main room was filled to the max. In the right corner of the room he had his twin sized bed that adorned emerald colored sheets and in the left corner he had his black, wooden desk overflowing with papers, folders, and an array of books. Next to the front door was a tall bookshelf shoved into the corner that would surely come undone any minute with the amount of oversized books that were shoved into its cheap frame. To the left of the front door was another door and an entry leading to the outdated kitchen. The bathroom barely fit his tub and toilet and the kitchen he rarely touched. The only attention that kitchen ever got was to house leftovers and make coffee.

But it was his home. One that he paid for monthly and had earned. It wasn't a foster home like he had spent so many nights in as a child. This was his home and no one could take that away from him. Nothing could be more satisfying than that. 

Alexander made his way over to the bed which was a feat in itself. The floor was covered to full capacity with clothes both dirty and clean as well as all his writings that always got tossed around when he was in the creative mood. Finding a patch of uncovered carpet was more difficult than finding Waldo in his room and to the extent of his knowledge there was not a man named Waldo lurking in his apartment. 

Nearly tripping as he went, Alexander slung his bag off and let it crumple to the floor. He then kicked his uncomfortable dress shoes off and flung himself onto his bed.

For a moment he just laid there with his face smushed into his pillow, the only sound accompanying his ears were the small noises of his content breath and the ticking of the clock that sat on his desk. 

“I got the job…,” he muttered to himself as if he didn't state it outloud it wouldn't be true. As if it would be a fleeting dream that he could barely catch a glimpse of.

Sitting there, a giant, uncharacteristic grin spread itself across his face. Alexander shot up from his bed and flung off his hoodie then began to quickly unbutton the dress shirt and peel the pants down to a pool around his ankles. Digging around the pile on the floor for something clean to wear via smell check, Alexander found an old, ratty sweater that was forest green (his absolute favorite color) and a somewhat not too dirty pair of jeans. He tugged each of the garments on while sending out a text to Lafayette and John separately.

A.HAM: They hired me! Can we go celebrate with some friends tonight?

As always, John replied immediately and he could already hear the distant sounds of his neighbor’s running footsteps towards his door. Alexander chuckled to himself as he slipped his hoodie back on and opened the door just in time to be greeted by John huffing and puffing with his fist poised about to knock on the door. At seeing Alexander's face, John’s own lit up with a wide, toothy grin.

His neighbor slung his arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a bone crushing hug, “Dude, congratulations! I knew you would get the job. I had a lucky feeling, y’know? This fortune cookie the other day told me good fortune was coming my way or a friend's.”

Alexander snorted, “Your belief in me falls on a fortune cookie?”

John let go of his friend as Alexander pulled the apartment door closed behind them and locked it, “Of course not! It just helps when the universe is also on your side.” 

Alexander couldn't argue with that. Just as they turned to walk out of the complex, his phone vibrated in his pocket. The shorter man pulled out the flip phone that John had nicknamed “ye’ old brick” upon seeing it for the first time.

Alexander had only met John half a year ago when Alexander got locked out of his apartment. At that time he had no cellphone to call the landlord so he faced the fact he would just have to ask one of his neighbors to use their phone. He still remembered it clear as day, he had stood gazing at the three doors in front of him that surrounded his own. It was either knock on the prostitutes door that always tried to get him to “buy” her goods, the must be drug dealer since near the man's apartment door always stunk of weed and copious amounts of air freshener, or the weird guy that never left his apartment. 

Alexander chose choice number three and was delighted to find the man wasn't as weird as he had originally thought. John had eagerly led him inside his apartment and gave him his phone as well as a can of coca cola from his fridge. From there they started a sort of unconventional friendship that consisted of movie nights at John's apartment. 

Alexander glanced at the lit up LED screen. Lafayette was calling him. Flipping the device open, Alexander pressed it to his ear, “Hey, Laf.”

Something that can only be described as a mix of excited shouts and celebrating met his ears. Alexander was fluent in French thanks to his mother, but even his friend’s words were too fast for him to decipher.

“Wha- Laf, are you ok?” He asked tentatively.

“Of course I am ok! Alexander, mon ami, I am so...how you say...uh ‘happy’ for you! Your message requested we celebrate, non? Who did you want to come out with us?”

Alexander's lips twitched into a small smile. Having such great friends in one of the harshest cities in the world was like finding a diamond in the rough underneath a mountain of sludge. 

“My friend John is coming with. I think you've met him once at the cafe?” Alexander replied, holding John back from taking the phone to reintroduce himself.

“Oh, oui! I remember him. Alexander...is it all right if I bring Hercules along?”

Alexander grinned fondly to himself. He had only met Lafayette’s lover, Hercules, a small number of times whenever he dropped by the cafe. When Hercules came around, Alexander would always watch the happy couple with a slight twinge of jealousy. Hercules would come in and bring his beloved some type of pastry or a new piece of clothing and then they would part with a loving, chaste kiss.

It was the type of relationship that Alexander hoped he could one day have. However, he knew a person like himself could never have something as sweet and pure as a love like they had. No matter what, he was always on the go and no one could ever get him to slow down for them. Alexander couldn't quite help that his brain ran a mile a minute non stop and destroyed everything in its wake. He hoped that one day he could find someone with the ability to keep up.

Needless to say, Hercules seemed like a man that Alexander could get along with fine. All though they never talked much, Hercules would wave to him from afar in a greeting manner when he stopped by to see Lafayette. He had a feeling John would approve of him as well. 

“I think John and I would enjoy the addition of his company,” he replied.

Alexander could practically hear the grin in Lafayette’s voice, “Merci! Meet me at the cafe then at 6 o’clock? I have to go for now- customers await.”

“See you then, Laf,” Alexander clicked the phone shut.

XxxxXxxxXxxx

Thomas let out a hefty sigh as he entered the meeting room with James following behind him in toe. Meetings were always so painfully boring. To him, a meeting was basically sitting around a long table with his fellow staff and having to listen to them drone on about details he didn't quite care about. Everyone was practically a moron in his eyes except for a select few. James, Burr, Steuben, and Adams were the only ones that felt relatively competent to him. The rest were squabbling idiots. Especially Charles Lee. How Lee was ever hired and climbed the ranks like he did was beyond Thomas. 

The two southerner’s took their seats together across from Washington. Joining them, Burr greeted them both out of simple courtesy. Thomas gave a dismissive wave of his hand while James mumbled a greeting back.

The rest of the employees soon found their own seats and as Washington cleared his throat the meeting began.

“Today will be a short meeting. We have two affairs on the table to address. The first being that since we are all here we might as well run over the same information that we did in last week's meeting just in case something was missed, the second being we have a new hire. I have to apologize for this being last minute, but it came about suddenly. I hired a new member of staff today that will be working as an assistant editor-”

At that everyone in the room tried to stifle their groans. No one liked new hirees. Especially assistant hirees. Every once in a while Washington would hire an assistant editor and pin them off onto one of his well established employees. Who ever got stuck with the assistant was in charge of teaching the kid the ropes and keeping them in check. They were editors not babysitters. Anyone good enough was hired as an editor from the getgo, anyone else was a waste of time. At least, that's how Thomas saw it.

Washington glared at the room, effectively shutting everyone up at once, “I am aware about your feelings on this matter, however, I think this one shows a lot of promise and capability. That being said, I need someone responsible enough that actually needs an assistant’s help to guide him. Anyone willing?”

The room was dead silent. Thomas glanced at his coworkers, no one seemed to want to get involved at all.

Washington let out an exasperated sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, “If no one volunteers I will pick someone at random-” 

“Can I see their file?” Thomas spoke up, face emotionless and revealing nothing to James's inquisitive eyes.

Washington nodded and slid the file across the table that was stained to its core with coffee. Thomas took the file into his hands and opened the manila folder, pretending to peruse it with disinterest, but really he felt a small inch of excitement starting in his stomach.

Could it be?

And then there it was. On the first page of the document in bold lettering was the name “Alexander Hamilton”.

The pipsqueak had lied to him.

Thomas’s mask of stone broke into a sly smirk, “I could use an assistant.”

At that James's head snapped to him, “What?”

“What?” Washington parroted, also in disbelief.

Thomas never ever took in assistants. He gave no regard for them and if they floundered under the weight of the company he couldn't care less. The way he saw it they were lucky to even be working near him. Washington stopped trying to assign him assistants after the last one that he had. The poor boy left with his tail between his legs at the beration he had received from Thomas. But Thomas argued to his boss that it wasn't his fault.

Honestly, if the boy didn't know where semicolons should and shouldn't be then he had no place or future in working at a publishing company. Especially one of the most competitive ones in New York City. It was beyond difficult to land a job at Mount Vernon Publishing and Thomas would be damned if he let it be filled with mediocrity.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, folding one leg over the other, “I find myself in need of an assistant. You asked for someone to take him and I'm volunteering. Where's the problem?” He replied coolly, steadily ignoring James's gaping at him like a codfish.

Washington squinted at him. With much hesitation and going against his greater judgement he replied, “All right, then. It's settled, see me after the meeting for the required information. Now that that's done with, let's begin where we left off last time-”

Thomas tuned him out as he drummed long, meticulous fingers against the hardwood. He was sure Hamilton never wanted to see his face in the same vicinity as him again, but the little runt was just going to have to put up with it. A tiny pit of satisfaction that he was Hamilton's boss grew within him. Oh, how he would love to see Hamilton talk back to him now. All though, admittedly, he rather enjoyed the smaller man's fits of passion.

This would be interesting. 

XxxXxxxXxxx

A/N: Oh my gosh this was a longish chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it? I think I did pretty darn well on this chapter with my writing. I'm excited for the next one! (I already have it planned, so yeah).

Let me know what you think in the comments and leave a kudo or two!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summaries are spoilers so you're not getting one ; )

A/N: I'm so sorry, but this chapter is pretty short. School has me all over the place lately. Second semester has been so unkind. 

Anyways I have finally planned and plotted this story and I'm so excited I can't wait and I know how it's going to end. It'll be great. There's also a couple of things I need to address real quick.

1\. Scheduling. I'll upload every weekend and if I don't upload one week I'll upload the next.

2\. If I ever decide to discontinue this fic I will let you know. However, I have no plans to discontinue this.

3\. If you enjoy history and reading then read “Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power” by Jon Meacham. It's brilliant. I learned an interesting fact btw. Jefferson purchased a bust of Hamilton and placed it in the entrance hall of Monticello next to a bust of himself. I'm sorry but that's not something you do if you hate someone ; ) 

XxxxxXxxxXxxxX

Alexander awoke the next morning with a pulsating headache caused by a mix of a raging hangover and his alarm that was letting out ear splitting screeches next to his bed. 

Last night with John, Lafayette, and Hercules had been great. Fantastic even. The four of them ventured off to one of New York City's many bars. They had drinks, played darts, and just hung out as if they had all been friends for a very long time. After they were effectively intoxicated, they left the bar and journeyed to a nearby nightclub where many people were trying to forget their worries on a Sunday night. Alexander couldn't recall much at all about the club other than the fact it was much too loud for his liking. He was an exceptionally loud person, but even the club was too much for him.

The only thing Alexander really could remember was the walk back home from the club. Lafayette and Hercules had said their goodbyes and left in a taxi together while John and him walked home in the cold. Despite the alcohol warming Alexander's veins, he still found himself shivering. He supposed John must have noticed because he slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close. The immigrant made no fuss as he subconsciously leant into the provided warmth. John's touch was something that could only be described as intimate and usually Alexander would have shied away from it, but he was too drunk and exhausted to care. His brain always over analyzed everything anyways.

After John had helped him into his apartment (Alexander was a lightweight compared to his friend), he didn't remember anything else. 

Alexander slapped the alarm off and slowly sat up on his bed. Pressing a palm to his temple he groaned in despair. Why had he drank so much? He knew he couldn't handle it. 

This was just great. Such a great way to make a first impression on his first day.

Alexander blinked as the realisation struck him like a freight train. Head practically spinning around on his shoulders, he looked back at the clock. It read as 7:15am. 

Washington had told him to be in at work at 7:50 am.

“Shit,” Alexander breathed as he shot up from his bed, ignoring the growling protests of his headache.

He raced into his bathroom and without a second thought threw off all of his clothing from the night before and jumped into the shower. The cold water stung his skin as he scrubbed and scrubbed, trying his hardest to diminish any lingering smells of alcohol and regret. He paid special attention to digging his fingertips into his scalp lathering it with shampoo in an attempt to get rid of the grease that always coated his hair. Just as the water was beginning to heat up, Alexander was done and out of his shower. He stepped out onto the floor, effectively soaking it, and brushed his teeth hard enough at the sink to make his gums bleed. Lastly, he grabbed a razor and gingerly shaved away the excess hair around his goatee. Alexander always kept some sort of facial hair at all times. Without it he practically resembled a newborn. 

Wrenching a towel from the rack, Alexander dried himself off as he stumbled back into the main room of his apartment and tried to locate his dress clothes from yesterday. Eventually he found them and slid them back on. He knew this was kind of unsanitary, but for now they were the only nice clothes that he owned. When he received his first paycheck he would surely buy some more, suitable clothing so he didn't wear the same thing everyday because someone was bound to notice eventually.

Alexander toweled off his hair and tied it up into a high bun, tucking any loose strands behind his ears. Next he searched around his messy desk for his glasses. Eventually he found the rectangular, black framed glasses and rubbed off the dirt that covered the lenses onto his black dress pants. He placed them on his face and picked up his messenger bag and stuffed his phone inside it.

He stole a glance back at the clock as he caught his breath.

7:32 am.

“FUCK,” he yelled as he raced out the door, locked it, and skidded in front of John’s door.

The short man began to pound on the door in earnest, “John! John, please open up-”

He was cut off as a very sleepy and similarly looking, hungover John opened the front door, “Alex? What's wrong-”

Alexander grabbed his friend by his shirt collar, shaking him awake, “I need to borrow your car or I need you to drive me to work! I'm so fucking late- please!”

John simply blinked and grabbed his keys wordlessly off of a table by his door. He nodded and grabbed Alexander's hand, leading him to his old, beat up white Toyota.

XxxXxxXxx

By some shred of a miracle, or maybe John's reckless driving, Alexander made it into Washington's office at 7:50 on the dot. Nerves wracking through his veins, he sat in one of the leather seats in front of Washington's desk, awaiting his arrival. He wasn't completely sure if he was allowed in the man's office whilst he was away, but he asked the secretary outside and he claimed it was all right.

Alexander gripped his knees, both trying to contain his excitement and the urge to vomit all at once. To occupy himself, he took to glancing at his surroundings and noting the little things to himself. He spied a photograph of a woman hanging up on the far wall. In the photograph the woman bore a dazzling smile. She seemed to hold all the poise and kindness in the world solely through her demeanor. He had a small inkling the woman must be Washington's wife or someone very close to him. 

Peering over his shoulder, Alexander looked back at the door behind him. It showed no signs of opening any time soon so he took his chances and stood from the chair. He circled around the desk to the photograph on the wall and read the inscription at the bottom of the frame. It stared back at him with the words “My Martha.”

A small smile graced his features as he turned his attention away from the photograph and instead to the back wall of the office that wasn't really a wall at all. It was made of glass and transparent, revealing the bustling streets of New York below. Alexander approached the glass and stared at the breathtaking scene. From up there in Washington's office, he could see practically everything. He could see a man on the street corner with a hot dog cart, the many beings clad in suits and ties, and in stark comparison to the suits he could see the homeless trudging the streets. His smile turned into a frown as he turned away to gaze at something else, fully knowing he could be in their position right now if he hadn't been as fortunate.

It was then that something caught his attention. Below he could see a familiar head of poofy hair tied back into a bun that contrasted against dark skin. Lafayette, whom Alexander now considered a dear friend, was strolling along below. Alexander watched with mild intrigue as Lafayette turned into a building. Glancing up at the building, he realised that it was none other than Liberty Cafe in which Lafayette entered. He had no idea this building had been so close to his previous place of employment. It seemed a little odd to him that Washington hadn't mentioned the cafe was so close when the topic was brought up the day before. Oh well, though. The immigrant knew he had the annoying habit of over thinking. 

It must have just simply slipped Washington's mind.

Before Alexander had the chance to sit back down, however, the door swung open. Panicking, he scrambled to dart back around the desk to his seat. God forbid if Washington came to the assumption that he had been snooping through his desk or something worse of the same nature. When not one figure, but two, entered the room it made Alexander stop dead in his tracks with himself poised over the chair. He didn't sit, though, he felt too much in shock and alarm for that.

Washington strode in with a warm smile and his hand outstretched to shake Alexander's. Following behind him, Jefferson watched with his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. The pockets belonged to a suit that was the color of dark wine instead of that awful magenta, Alexander noted.

He quickly stood to his full height and clasped Washington's hand in his own, trying to return the man's smile. The shorter man was still trying to recover from his shock and couldn't find the words to greet his superior. It was weird, honestly. Only Jefferson’s presence seemed to be able to render him speechless.

“Alexander, I'm glad you made it on time. I had a feeling you would,” Washington let go of his hand and gestured to Jefferson who was watching with an amused glint in his eyes that never left Alexander, “This is Mr. Jefferson, you will be his assistant for a while.”

Jefferson outstretched his hand to Alexander and kept a smirk from cracking onto his lips at the immigrant's dumbfounded expression, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hamilton.”

Snapping back to reality, Alexander grabbed Jefferson's hand in his and squeezed tightly, digging his nails harshly into the underside of the man's hand that was out of Washington's line of sight. He held Jefferson's intense eye contact, boring into his eyes with a hard hatred while Jefferson's only held amusement, “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Jefferson,” he ground out.

The two of them maintained their unbreakable staring contest even though their hands had parted. He was getting all worked up and out of sorts while Jefferson maintained a calm and collected demeanor, looking down at him as if he were better.

Alexander hoped his fingernails had left crescent marks in Jefferson's hand. 

Seemingly unknowing of the burning glares being passed behind him, Washington strode over to his desk and plucked up a manilla folder from the top of a pile. When his back was turned, Jefferson held his hand up that had the desired marks imprinted into it that Alexander had hoped to leave. 

‘Childish,’ Jefferson mouthed with an air of indifference.

Alexander sneered and mouthed back, ‘Asshole.’

Jefferson's smirk finally surfaced onto his stupid, full lips.

Washington turned back around and handed the folder to Alexander who took it with a far too innocent of a smile for someone who had just openly slandered his new supervisor to their face. In truth, Jefferson was now his boss, really. However, he wasn't willing to accept that fact yet. Most likely he never would accept it. 

“This folder contains all of the information you may need. Map of the building, time schedules, important dates, email contact lists,” Washington waved his hand, “The whole works. I'm awfully sorry to have to cut this short, but I have an early, morning meeting today. Jefferson will show you around the office and where you'll be working. I'll check in with you on how you're faring later this week, all right?”

Alexander gave a stiff nod as his eyes slid back to Jefferson who was waiting by the door with a grin that was far too charming to be genuine. In fact, he would go as far to say that there was malice behind it.

“Right this way, Mr. Hamilton,” Jefferson spoke, meeting Alexander's gaze once more.

Alexander couldn't imagine anything worse. Actually, he would prefer chewing on a handful of thumb tacks compared to having to be shown around by Jefferson of all people.

XxxxXxxxXxxx

A/N: Again I am so sorry this is short. Next chapter will be extra long I promise. I just didn't want to leave any of you waiting another week. Please forgive me and comment, kudo, bookmark, etc.

Also, this chapter had two important foreshadows of events to come. Did you spot them? ; )


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We don't do summaries here ; )

A/N: Oh my fucking gosh buckle up your seat belts for this one. I said this chapter was going to be twice as long as last chapter. It ended up being four times as long because I love ruining my social life ●H● But I hope you like It!

WARNING: In this chapter Jefferson and Hamilton get into a debate about gun laws. I had this idea before the Florida shooting so I kept it, but in light of the shooting I want to warn you that it's there and the views do not reflect my own nor am I trying to push my views onto anyone. Also Hamilton mocks the South like a lot to piss off Jefferson. I don't believe that of the South so if you're from there don't take it personally.

Enjoy!

XxxxXxxxXxxx

 

Begrudgingly, Alexander followed behind Jefferson, trying to keep the pace of the man’s long strides as they passed numerous offices and rushing interns. He was anxiously digging his nails into his palms, surely going to give himself the same marks he left on Jefferson. The thought of being tied to Jefferson in any way, shape, or form was enough to make him stop abusing his poor hands. Surprisingly, Jefferson hadn't said anything to him since they left Washington's office. The only reaction he saw from Jefferson was when he would wave to his coworkers upon their greetings. The unusual silence compared to the elitist ass’s usual incessant insults was nice. 

It didn't last very long at all.

“Hamilton, explain something to me won't you,” Jefferson spoke up. “Remember when you told me you weren't hired. Do I recall this correctly?” 

Alexander's eyes narrowed considerably as Jefferson shot him a slight smirk over his shoulder. “Yes.”

Jefferson tilted his head to the side and tsked in mock thought as he liked to do, still walking ahead of him. “I would think it to be common sense not to lie to your superiors. Or are you really that daft?”

Taking his chance, Alexander stretched his shorter legs as far as they would go to finally reach Jefferson's side. He jabbed an accusing finger in Jefferson's face, “How was I supposed to know you were important? If luck were on my side I would never have to see you again.”

Jefferson's eyes slid to the corners of his eyes, first looking to the finger invading his personal space and then to inspect Alexander closely, almost in a challenging manner as he fought the urge to laugh at the immigrant's attempts to keep up, “And who did you think I was?” He asked, choosing to ignore the jutting insult at the end of Alexander's words.

In all honesty, Alexander should have deduced that Jefferson was important. He dressed like fake royalty with his flashy clothing and shiny accessories. Not to mention Jefferson's personality that seemed to just ooze self entitlement. He blamed his ignorance on the fact that Jefferson was the last thing he wanted to think about. Yet, if he had just slowed down and paid attention this whole situation could have been avoided.

But he could never slow down. The fear of stopping was great within him. If he stopped he felt that the death that licked at his heels from Nevis would finally catch up to him.

Alexander took his chance to degrade Jefferson in return. A mild payback, he would say. Replicating the same mock thought of Jefferson's, Alexander replied matter-of-factly, “Someone menial….possibly an intern if they thought you could handle it,” he finished with a sly, little smile of his own.

His comment had the desired effects. For once, Jefferson's face of unyielding stone chipped into a dark scowl. His features then quickly morphed back into the perfectly crafted facade of confident indifference, “That's rich coming from a coffee boy.”

For a moment they just held each others glare before Alexander dropped his eyes down to his scuffed up dress shoes. 

“I should have slipped cyanide into your coffee when I had the chance,” Alexander grumbled more to himself than to Jefferson. 

Jefferson let out a short bark of laughter instead of one of his notorious snorts that made anyone around feel like they had said something stupid, “Did you just threaten your boss?”

Alexander crossed his arms over his chest as he watched some of the people they passed. Some of them waved to him as they did to Jefferson and some of them looked at him a little too intently. Like they were eyeing up fresh meat. He felt a sudden rush of insecurity hit his veins. They knew he wasn't supposed to be here. They knew he didn't have the credentials for it.

He mentally shook himself. How could they possibly know that? He was being ridiculous. First day jitters, was all.

Squaring back his shoulders, Alexander retorted, “Did I happen to stutter?” He was completely ignoring the fact that his words were unwise. He was taking the man's bait and he needed to turn it around before things got too out of hand between them. This was exactly what Jefferson wanted

He wanted Alexander to dig himself into a hole so far that he had no chance of coming out of it. So Washington would see him for what the rest of the world thought he was.

He had to remember to be civil. Washington said he would check on him later that week. Perfect. Alexander would just have to last until then and then he could ask to be assigned to someone else. Preferably someone less irritating.

Backtracking, Alexander added, “Besides, I'm not some measly coffee boy. In fact I'm an even better editor than you are.”

Jefferson reached out and tugged open a door to the room that he had led them to first, “Big talk for your first day, Hamilton.”

So far this tour was not the most fun or enlightening.

“Just like you use too big of words for a brain like yours,” Alexander snapped, ignoring the burning in his side that was surely coming from Jefferson's scowl.

Alexander was really pushing it again. Any ideas of civility had gone out the seventh story window and back to the island of fucks given.

Inside of the room was what Alexander assumed to be the break room based on the kitchenette inside and the numerous people sitting at tables with their phone in one hand and cheap, fast food breakfasts in the other. The only people in the room that seemed to be interested in any type of human contact were three women that were sat squealing in the corner. One of them he recognized to be the lady that he had met at the front desk prior. She had her arms wrapped around a girl with a pale complexion and dark hair that was stark in contrast. The woman's face was quite wholesome and when she smiled at the desk woman's antics, Alexander found his pulse increase at an alarming rate. The last girl was one that appeared younger than the other two. She had her hair tied up into a high ponytail, her skin darker than the second girl's, but lighter than the desk woman’s. This one was bearing a coy grin as she threw pieces of granola bar at the squealing girl with the fair skin that Alexander couldn't tear his eyes away from.

“Just eat the granola bar! It's good for you!” Shouted the youngest looking one with the ponytail.

“I already ate this morning!” The fair skinned one yelled back with the brightest, most inviting smile Alexander had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.

Eventually, their laughing died down enough for the desk woman to notice his and Jefferson's presence. The desk woman with the ringlet hair let out a few more huffs of laughter as she tried to compose herself as well as the other two women by gently smacking their shoulders.

“Oh, Tommy. Sorry if you got hit with flying granola. Peggy took it upon herself to feed Eliza today,” she apologized as she let go of the girl named ‘Eliza’.

Eliza. The name bounced off the walls of Alexander's mind, almost in a taunting manner while his heart was trying to recover from its palpitations.

“Don't worry yourself, Angie. I'm just on babysitting duty as it were,” Jefferson motioned with a jab of his thumb towards Alexander who was stuck in a complete and utter trance. He was practically gawking at Eliza. 

‘Angie’ turned her attention to Alexander and replied, “I've met you before haven't I? Yes, I have. I gave you directions to Washington's office the other day. Sorry about my aloofness, but so many people come and go here that you just get used to sending them on their way and never seeing them again. I don't think I've formally introduced myself, I'm Angelica Schuyler-”

The girl Alexander heard being referred to as Peggy rushed over and shook Alexander's hand before the others could follow, forcefully bringing him out of his dream like state that he was in, “And I'm Peggy Schuyler!”

The immigrant blinked and tried his best to put on the best, charming smile that he could manage. This particular smile of his was usually only shown around the company of the fairer sex. He found them much better company to have than his own gender which he knew some would reprimand him for. Yet, he couldn't help it. He found their different outlook on affairs intriguing. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Angelica and Peggy,” he replied, sliding his eyes back to Eliza who had joined them instead of sitting across the room along with Angelica.

His breath and heart fought for room in his throat as she stretched her hand out in such an elegant manner that he feared he would never hear his own heart beat ever again. He took her hand in his and felt the welcoming warmth, focusing on it more than her introduction.

It was only when Jefferson harshly nudged him in his side with his elbow that he realised Eliza had said something to him. “P-pardon?” He stammered, trying to collect himself.

Instead of looking appalled by his lack of intent attention, her thin lipped smile only grew as she repeated herself, “I said my name is Eliza Schuyler. What's yours?”

They all had the same surname that was interesting. It sounded so familiar as well… Where had he heard it from?

“Oh! It’s Alexander...Alexander Hamilton. Are you all related?” he replied with as much pride as he could muster as he withheld a disappointed whimper from escaping his lips when she withdrew her hand.

Peggy nodded, “Yep, sisters.”

Alexander wasn't really paying attention, though. He gave a dumb nod as he found himself once again entranced by Eliza’s unyielding, natural beauty.

“Geez, Hamilton, close your mouth before you catch flies. She’s taken,” Jefferson teased from under his breath accompanied by a malicious, entertained smile. Fortunately for Alexander, the sisters were too busy arguing about the granola bar incident of 2018 again to notice what the Southerner had said.

Alexander shot a glare to Jefferson who was taking way too much pleasure in crushing Alexander's new found infatuation, “I wasn't staring!..” His anger quickly deflated into vulnerable insecurity he rather not show around Jefferson, but matters of the heart were always his weakness. No matter how much he might wish, he would never be a man like Jefferson that could detach himself from his thoughts and feelings enough to get the upper hand over people. Anyone that opposed his views (that were clearly the correct views) he let them have the full onslaught of his passionate words that stung like getting pelted with stones. His aunt back in Nevis frequently referenced his character to the likeness of the hurricane that had destroyed their town.

He took her words with a grain of salt. Knowing she was saying he was powerful and willful, but also destructive to anything that he came into contact with. The lack of control that he had over his emotions were devastating to anyone that came within their path.

Alexander inched away from Jefferson who was sporting an amused smirk at the immigrant's complete three-sixty of character. “But who's she taken by..?” Alexander asked.

Jefferson opened his mouth to answer, with that delighted little, devilish smirk. He wanted to ruin Alexander's momentary enchantment, but he didn't get the chance to.

A woman brushed past the two men talking in the doorway and walked over to Eliza. The woman draped her arm around Eliza’s waist and brought her in close. This woman looked a little bit like Peggy, but her figure was fuller and held a different demeanor. A red dress encased her perfect body and matched her lips that were caked with a blood red lipstick.

“By me,” the woman said with a grin and a voice like silk.

Alexander's cheeks took on a light dust of pink as he tried to shove down his embarrassment of being caught. Jefferson watched him and bit back sadistic laughter at his clear misfortune.

Love at first sight felt squashed and soiled. It never even had a chance to take flight, Alexander grumbled inwardly. However, he knew his love affairs never went well at all for him or the other person. He would never have the perfect love struck relationship of endearment that Hercules and Lafayette had.

Maybe he was being a tad melodramatic now, but he wasn't sure.

The woman stuck her hand out to Alexander and said with all the confidence in the world that her strikingly good looks bid her, “Maria Lewis,” she stated.

Alexander took her hand in his and shook firmly, “Alexander Hamilton at your service.” He was ever being the gentleman.

Her red lips stretched into a bigger grin and so did the other women’s. “I like this one, Tommy,” Angelica quipped.

“Yeah, where did you find him?” Maria tilted her head to the side and absentmindedly adjusted Eliza’s shirt collar in a doting gesture.

Jefferson leant back against the door frame and shook his hand dismissively at them in nonchalance, “Some street corner. You know I have a habit of picking up needy little strays.”

Alexander glared with the force of a thousand burning suns at the man whose pompous grin became more infuriating by the second, “I definitely should have poisoned you when I had the chance.” 

Finally, Eliza let out a chuckle of approval, “I'm guessing you're Thomas's new assistant. I wish you all the luck in the world Alexander.”

“Yeah,” Peggy agreed, “They usually don't last very long.”

Jefferson snapped, “It's not my fault if they're unfit.”

Angelica laughed and slipped her arm around Alexander's, “Is he showing you around? We'll give you a tour instead if you want. Tommy isn't very good at dealing with the new hirees.”

He could have practically cried at her invitation. Anything to get away from Jefferson. 

Apparently, Jefferson felt the same as he did. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jefferson stuck his thumbs into the pockets of his silky slacks and turned to leave, “My hands are cleaned of this runt then. Have him back to me in an hour, Angie.”

With that Jefferson stalked out of the break room and down the hall, leaving Alexander in the care of the four women. If only he could enjoy women's company like this outside of work.

XxxxXxxxXxxx

After about an hour, the women concluded Alexander's tour. Through the tour, Alexander was introduced to the meeting rooms he needed to know about and the prized printer room that was packed nearly all day long. Peggy gave him the important tidbit of printing out what he needed early in the morning or he would never find it among everyone else's print outs. It was sound advice. Maria gave him the heads up on who not to trust farther than he could throw them, but he didn't really remember the names she gave. In hindsight he should have written them down or at least kept a mental note of the names. 

Eliza, on the other hand, let him know who was most helpful in the workplace and Angelica let him know who not to piss off. Amongst the list of who not to piss off was Jefferson's name, but he just smirked to himself and thought about how far beyond pissing off he had gone with the man. 

He had asked the itching question of how an entire sibling ringlet came to work at the same company. Peggy filled him in on the fact that their father, Philip Schuyler was a great friend of Washington's. Now Alexander understood where he had heard the name ‘Schuyler’ before. Philip Schuyler was one of the most influential and richest men in New York. A politician to boot.

When Washington was asked to hire the three Schuyler children, he naturally was happy to employ the three daughters that were wealthy enough that they didn't really need to work, but they wanted to.

Every moment he spent with Maria and the Schuyler sisters he grew fonder of them. He particularly took an interest in Angelica’s intellectual tendencies. She was a sharp woman that matched her double edged tongue. Alexander found himself admiring her to a great extent already. Angelica was the type of woman that he would write into a novel. The kind that future, female readers of his would greatly appreciate.

Alexander's musings were interrupted when Angelica clicked her tongue in distaste, “We have five minutes to get to work or Lee is going to crack down on us,” she sighed. She then inclined her head towards her youngest sister, “Take Alexander back to Tommy won't you?”

Peggy shot her sister a thumbs up and grabbed Alexander's wrist, “Got it, Chief. Right this way, Alexander.”

The immigrant barely had the chance to wave a goodbye to the three women leaving in the opposite direction before Peggy was pulling him along down the hall.

“You know,” Peggy began, “It's weird that Tom has an assistant out of the blue.”

Alexander's eyebrows scrunched in distaste at the mention of the dreaded man. He felt like he was a prisoner being dragged back to his cell. “Yeah, you said his assistants never last very long, right?”

She hummed in agreement, “Thomas absolutely hates assistants. Washington stopped giving them to him because they always quit within a week or two. Wonder why you were assigned to him,” Peggy thought out loud, more to herself than to him.

Alexander stared ahead, letting himself be dragged around by the young woman. That was a wonder indeed. Why had Washington pegged him on Jefferson? An itching started in his mind. An itching that said Washington gave him to Jefferson so he would be out of the company's hair within a week. Alexander's previous smile turned into a deep frown.

Did Washington want to get rid of him?

Sensing Alexander's sudden silence, Peggy quickly regained her grin and reassured him, “Don't think too much on it. I'm sure it's nothing.”

Alexander wasn't so sure.

Peggy came to a sudden halt in front of a door that Alexander felt make a pit of dread stir inside his stomach. The door looked awfully similar to Washington's, but the plaque on it was scribbled with the word “Jefferson” instead.

Alexander let out a sigh, making his dislike for the man clear.

Peggy clapped him on the shoulder with a large grin, “Don't worry about it. Just prove yourself to be worth more than an assistant and I'm sure you won't have to deal with Thomas for long.”

Despite knowing that wasn't true, that Jefferson would always seek to ruin his life, Alexander simply nodded and grasped the door handle. The metal was darkly tinted and cold. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself eerily. This handle was the perfect representation of Jefferson's soul.

Peggy turned and left as he pushed open the door, not even bothering to knock. Which he probably should have because as soon as he opened the door Jefferson looked up from the work on his desk and snapped at him, “Don't you know how to knock?”

Alexander entered the room and shut the heavy door behind him. With all the defiance he could muster when the other was giving him such a stare, Alexander retorted, “You told me to be here in an hour. I was invited. Therefore I don't need to knock.”

He knew his argument was flawed. In reality, he knew it was always polite to knock before entering a room no matter what the circumstances were. But this was Jefferson and he didn't care about being courteous to him at all.

Jefferson took to grumbling to himself as he marked up the document in front of him that was one of many. For a moment, Alexander stood there awkwardly balancing his weight back and forth on his feet. Obviously, Jefferson didn't plan on saying anything else to his assistant.

So, Alexander decided to entertain himself, not knowing what else in the world to do. The immigrant strolled around the office, glancing at the many personal effects that lined the walls. His eyes landed on a wooden plaque that was decorated with an engraving of handguns in each corner. It read “Richmond Gun League”.

Alexander snorted. Of course Jefferson would be pro-guns. After all, he was from the South. He found they usually were the most pro-gun out of any other region in the states. Alexander knew Jefferson was from the South, but he got the state of origin wrong. So Jefferson wasn't an Alabama hick, but he was a Virginia hick.

Hearing Alexander's snort, Jefferson glanced up with narrowed eyes, “Find something humorous, Pipsqueak?”

Alexander clasped his hands behind his back and took on a stroll-like walk full of complete and feigned innocence, ignoring being called ‘pipsqueak’ for the moment. “Oh, nothing….just your beliefs is all.”

Jefferson completely ditched his task at hand to turn his full attention to Alexander with one, perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised, “Excuse me?” It wasn't a question for Alexander to repeat himself. It was a challenge. One that Alexander was expected to back down from.

Clearly, Jefferson didn't know him well at all. He never backed down. Alexander Hamilton wouldn't even shut his mouth if he was being held at gunpoint. It was just how he was. 

Alexander crossed his arms over his chest, “Your beliefs. Pro-gun I see? Typical of the South, I would say,” he knew he was overstepping. Not just overstepping but overleaping. Although, he would be lying if he said it wasn't so nice to see Jefferson becoming unwound under his words. For once Alexander wasn't being dangled by his string of emotions. For once it was Alexander holding the string and calling the shots as Jefferson's springs and sprockets popped out.

Jefferson sat his pen down and leant back in his luxurious armchair that didn't engulf him like it would Alexander. “I'm assuming you're a liberal tool, then,” Jefferson scoffed.

“I think you mean progressive,” Alexander circled around to the bookshelf and glanced at the spines of the books, making mental notes of the author's names. 

“I meant exactly as I said, Shortstack. A tool. I know your file said you're an immigrant, but honestly if you're going to come to the United States then at least bother to learn basic English.”

Alexander felt the sudden urge in his fingertips once again to wrap his hands around Jefferson's throat and squeeze until all signs of life were gone. The comment was such a low blow of the Southerner’s. It was the typical comment he heard on the news every day from racists and the like.

Keeping his composure, Alexander slid his fingers along the book spines with a hum that held a sharp edge. He froze on a particular book and read it aloud, “48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene. I've read this, it's all about manipulation and immoral principles.”

“You have to be willing to sacrifice those around you to get where you want. If someone happens to get crushed under your shoe it's their own fault,” Jefferson stated, beginning to turn his attention back to his work. The man looked a little disappointed that his comment about Alexander's immigrant status didn't get the reaction he expected.

Alexander paused and thought of his retaliation. It was sure to offend Jefferson greatly. He wondered if it was also putting his neck too close to the line. 

Before he could really stop himself, the words rolled straight off his tongue and out into the atmosphere where he couldn't take them back if he wanted or needed to. “Another shit belief from the South. Virginia must breed selfish hicks like rabbits,” Alexander imitated the smug smirk that Jefferson often wore.

Jefferson calm and collected attitude completely slipped to the inner circles of Hell.

Slamming his pen down onto his desk, Jefferson shot up from his seat and gripped the upholstery with such force all the blood quickly became vacant from his fingers, “What the fuck did you say about Virginia-”

The door was pushed open then, interrupting Jefferson's fit of rage. For a moment the room was filled with silence. Whoever was in the doorway was obviously too shocked to walk further into the office and Alexander was left staring at the seething Jefferson. The proud born, Virginian was torn between finishing shouting at Alexander and the new comer in his doorframe. Finding his nerves once again, Alexander peeked around the door from where he was behind it and saw someone that was abnormally short for a man. Alexander, himself, was on the shorter side of the spectrum. But this man was even shorter than him by a good, couple inches. It boosted Alexander's ego just a tad in an oddly sinful way.

The man shot Alexander a quizzical glance before hesitantly entering the room while clearing his throat and lacking the confidence he had when he first opened the door. “Uhm, am I interrupting something?” The short man asked, looking back and forth between Alexander standing with a complacent grin and Jefferson practically foaming at the mouth, eager to gouge the immigrant's eyes out. 

Jefferson paused and pieced himself back together in what felt like a millisecond. His face that was completely contorted into rage a moment before dropped back into its usual state of revealing no emotion to the viewer. Clearing his throat, Jefferson straightened his suit and gestured the short man over, “No, of course not, James. What did you need?”

‘James’ eyed Jefferson for a second before treading over to his desk and dropping down a new lot of papers that he had been cradling in his arms. Alexander's smugness melted away as he became an onlooker of their exchange. He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself and it felt awkward just watching them speak to one another.

“These are from Burr. He said they need to be fully corrected by next Wednesday as requested by Washington,” James explained. As Jefferson inspected the stack of papers, James turned to Alexander who was still trying to figure out what to do with himself. So far Jefferson hadn't been a very good guide at all to him. He had no clue what to do and waiting on Jefferson's becandcall was unnerving. 

Sticking his hand out, James introduced himself with a small smile, “Madison,” he stated his surname. Alexander guessed the short man didn't want someone with such lowly position as himself being on a first name basis with him. “I'm presuming you're Thomas's new assistant?”

Alexander grasped the man's hand and shook firmly, getting a good look of the man's face. Something about Madison's features reminded him distantly of Hercules. Only this man was much smaller in stature and seemed gentler, but he could tell Madison had a calculated coldness under the surface. “Yes,” Alexander replied, almost saying ‘regrettably’, but he refrained.

“All right, tell Washington they'll be completed by then,” Jefferson spoke up, not meeting either one of their eyes as he kept his focus on the papers.

Madison gave a stiff nod and muttered a farewell as he left the room. Jefferson looked back up at Alexander who was just standing around doing absolutely nothing, but staring.

With hard eyes that were still alight with fire from earlier and a harsh tone, Jefferson snapped, “Well?”

Alexander frowned and held out open palms as if it were obvious he didn't know what else he should do. “Well?” He parroted.

“Are you going to make yourself useful or not?” Jefferson scoffed, as if it were so clear of what he wanted of Alexander.

Alexander gaped, “You haven't asked me to do anything yet. Maybe try giving me a little direction? I'm not incompetent, but whether I like it or not I'm supposed to be helping you.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes, as if talking to Alexander like a human being was draining him. The Southerner strode around his desk and grabbed Alexander by his shoulder, despite the immigrants none too quiet protests. Shoving him out the door and dragging him down the hall, Jefferson kept his tight grip on the fabric covering Alexander's shoulder. “Ow, fuck- let go!” He gritted out. At least, the trip was short seeing as Jefferson led him to a cleaned out cubicle that was a couple cubicles down from his office. 

Jefferson let go of his shoulder with a forceful shove and gestured to the cubicle, “Welcome to your humble abode,” his voice dripped with all of the sarcasm in the world. 

Alexander stared at the three walled cubicle in front of him. The entire thing was so horribly grey. Grey desk with grey metal drawers and a grey swivel chair that was sure to be squeak prone. On top of the desk was a very old looking computer with a monitor that wasn't flat like the new ones. No, this monitor was fat and closely resembled old TVs. 

“This is where you'll be working for now on. I'm assuming you know how to use a computer,” Jefferson explained monitonely and pointed to an empty tray that was already on the desk next to the computer. “Your assignments and important documents will be placed here by myself or other members of staff. Now hand me your phone,” he stated, holding out his palm expectantly.

Alexander reluctantly fished out his cell phone from his pocket and shot Jefferson a glare for snorting when he saw Alexander owned a flip phone that practically seemed prehistoric nowadays. 

“What do you need it for?” Alexander slapped it into Jefferson's hand who ignored the hostile action and quickly typed his information into the phone.

“I'll send you a text whenever I need you so make sure to check it frequently,” Jefferson handed it back and shoved his hands into his pockets in an oddly casual manner.

Alexander looked at the LED screen. Lo and behold there was a new contact under the name “Jefferson”. Without a second thought he changed the contact to “Jeffershit”.

XxxxXxxxXxxx

Jefferson had left Alexander alone twiddling his thumbs at his desk with nothing to do. It was absolutely maddening. Jefferson wasn't letting him prove himself or do anything at all. 

Alexander let out a deep sigh as he held his head in his hands. Was it going to be like this all day? He knew he shouldn't complain, but he was just so bored. 

When he felt a buzzing in his pocket he practically almost ripped the stitches by shoving his hand inside to grab it.

“Finally,” Alexander celebrated to himself.

Jeffershit: Fetch me a coffee, won't you.

There was no question mark at the end. It was a stern demand disguised like a question.

Alexander’s excited smile immediately fell. Great. He was a dog. Jefferson wanted to see what tricks he would do.

So Alexander had landed the job of his dreams. Well, sort of. But he was still just a coffee boy to people like Jefferson.

Alexander huffed and stomped off to the break room to the get the asshole his coffee. Seeing Alexander from across the room, Angelica chuckled to herself, knowing the man's disdain was most likely prompted by Jefferson.

As Alexander made the coffee as he remembered Jefferson liked it, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Holding the coffee in one hand, Alexander fetched his phone out with the other. The immigrant glanced at the screen.

Jeffershit: Hurry up with the coffee.

Groaning, Alexander darted out of the room and watched the liquid slosh around inside the cup. He prayed it wouldn't spill over onto his hand or onto the floor especially. Approaching Jefferson's office, he began to hear a voice like an incessant ringing in his ear telling him to spit in it.

Alexander stared at the dark liquid with a contemplating smirk. He could totally spit in it and get away with it. On the other hand, if he didn't get away with it he would most likely be fired on his first day.

This time, Alexander took care to knock on the door. However, he didn't wait for a response before he was already barging in.

Jefferson glanced up from his laptop with a scornful glare, “Someone should really teach you how manners work.”

Alexander crossed the short distance of the room and sat the coffee cup down onto the desk right in front of the man that was sitting with all the poise in the world. If you asked Alexander, Jefferson sat like someone shoved a stick up his ass. That thought got him wondering what Jefferson's sexuality may actually be, but that was the last thing he wanted to dwell on. Jefferson did wear some quite flamboyant things, though…

Alexander mentally shook himself. Jefferson's sexuality shouldn't mean anything to him at all. He loathed the man.

“I have a great sense of manners. Just not with you,” Alexander stretched his lips into a fake smile.

Jefferson picked up the styrofoam cup, eyeing it with distaste. He must be one of those fancy shits that prefered mugs to the cheap material that is styrofoam. 

“No manners with your boss? How smart,” Jefferson snorted and brought the cup to his lips, but paused. He pulled the cup back and gazed into the coffee with narrowed eyes, as if searching for something like a thought suddenly occurred to him.

Alexander watched with an eyebrow raised. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jefferson beat him to it, “Did you spit in this?”

“I'm not that childish-”

“Did you spit in this?”

“...I thought about it.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes and stood from his chair, abandoning the coffee for the moment. “All right, Hamilton. Let's see if you're really as great as you think you are.”

Alexander stood his ground as Jefferson strolled around the desk and stopped right in front of him. The immigrant hated the fact that he had to incline his head backwards just to meet the other’s gaze. The closeness of Jefferson was disconcerting and felt suffocating. He could practically feel the Virginian’s breath on his face.

He noted to himself Jefferson smelt like expensive cologne. One that had the smell of a forest and firewood mixed with a hint of cinnamon. Pretentious, of course.

“I’m even better than I think I am,” Alexander replied with a quirk of his lips in a facade of confidence. The words sounded even too arrogant for him and he knew it wasn't true. But he knew he was better than Jefferson at the very least.

Jefferson's eyes slid over each of Alexander's features, drinking them in as a smirk played onto his lips. Alexander stared into the eyes boring into him, inspecting his vulnerable soul with wonder. Then it was gone. The man turned around, putting distance between them that was greatly needed. Alexander felt like he could finally breathe again.

Jefferson grabbed the stack of papers from his desk that Alexander recognized to be the same ones that Madison had dropped off earlier.

Waving them in front of Alexander's face, Jefferson explained, “You're going to look through these and correct them in their entirety by Friday,” he finished by slapping the lot into Alexander's awaiting hands.

The immigrant stared down at the papers. They seemed to make up an entire manuscript of a novel. Alexander flipped through the pages, there had to be at least six-hundred or more.

“Madison told you Washington wanted them done by next Wednesday?” Alexander asked more than stated.

Jefferson rolled his eyes as if it were obvious why and circled back around to the desk and to his chair. He slid back into it and crossed one leg over the other; a perfect picture of leisure. “I want them done by Friday so I can correct any of your fuck ups by Wednesday. Clear?”

With a huff Alexander tucked the stack under his arm and whirled on his heel, striding out the door. However, he didn't fail to shout, “As clear as your ever extending ego! And keep rolling your eyes- let's see if they'll fall out of your big head!” before he was out of earshot. Sounds of Jefferson's haughty laughter followed his ears all the way back to his cubicle.

Alexander sat down on his cheap swivel chair and set the papers down onto his desk. For a moment he had to sit there, massaging his temple in order to calm himself down.

Jefferson was sure to give him a migraine. 

Turning his attention back to the manuscript, Alexander smiled fondly to himself. Now he could really show what he was made of. His vocabulary? Extensive. His grasp of grammar? Phenomenal.

“You got this, Hamilton,” he whispered to himself as he peeled off the rubber band that was keeping all of the papers together. He rubbed his thumbs across the title page, savoring the feeling of a full manuscript in his hands.

One day, he told himself. One day it would be his manuscript being edited for publication. That thought alone was enough to thrill him to do his best job in editing the work. This manuscript was some author’s passion. Some books take years to write. He wanted to be his best for them and for Washington. But above all he wanted to prove himself to be better than Jefferson.

Alexander flipped the page over and began to read the first page. So far it seemed like it was some sort of murder mystery novel. Alexander really hoped it would be an easy, enjoyable read since he had to finish it in its entirety by Friday. The manuscript being well written and thrilling would be the cherry on top. However, as his eyes scanned the page he could already see a multitude of errors. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.

Alexander looked up and searched the surface of his desk for a pen.

Nothing.

Groaning, Alexander stood up and left the manuscript on his desk. How the Hell didn't he think to grab a pen this morning? In fact, he didn't really bring anything with him and that was unusual. He decided to blame it on the fact that he was in a rush.

Reluctantly, Alexander shuffled over to Jefferson's door and knocked. This time he waited for the man's “come in” before entering. 

Jefferson glanced up, mouth immediately quirking down in unamusement. “What do you want now, Hamilton?”

Alexander scowled, “I need a pen.”

Jefferson's frown pulled into an open toothed smirk. Already Alexander was regretting his decision to not just ask someone else for a pen. Needing anything from Jefferson left a sick feeling twisting in his gut.

“Little Hammie didn't come prepared to school?” Jefferson leaned back into his chair, smirk only seeming to grow more arrogant by the second along with his sadist like joy.

Alexander scoffed, “Just give me a fucking-”

He almost let out a squeak as Jefferson launched the red pen from before straight at his head. Alexander was lucky enough to duck at the right moment before it could strike him on his temple. The pen hit the wall with an audible smack before it bounced to the floor. Swiping it off the floor, Alexander grit his teeth and clenched the utensil hard in his fist.

“You're the worst,” he spat.

Jefferson leaned forward, propping his elbows up on the desk and holding his chin in his hands. With half lidded eyes and a dopey smile of satisfaction, Jefferson cooed, “Tell me something I don't know, Darlin’. Now get out of my office.”

Alexander let out a noise that can only be described as a short growl of frustration before slamming the door behind him. He stalked back to his desk with his hands balled into fists, ignoring the inquisitive gazes being thrown his way.

He would show Jefferson what he was made of. He would show Washington that he was better than any employee in the whole firm.

The sooner he did so the sooner he would no longer be Jefferson's assistant. 

“Fucking, hick,” Alexander grumbled to himself, returning to his desk.

He would show them his worth.

XxxxXxxxXxxxx

Whistling an upbeat tune to himself, Thomas slipped on his fluffy, black coat that smelt faintly of lavender. He then placed some last papers into his briefcase before closing it and fastening the clasps. With briefcase in hand, he left his office, still whistling to himself. 

To say he was having second thoughts about making Hamilton his assistant was an understatement. The little man was beyond annoying and perhaps a waste of time. That being said, however, he couldn't deny the fact that the street rat had already spiced up his work life. Today was the most fun he'd had at work in the longest time.

Alexander Hamilton proved to be a challenge and he revelled in it. 

Their relationship, though, was so unprofessional it was sure to be scorned if it got too out of hand.

Letting out a content sigh, Thomas walked along the cubicles, noticing everyone had gone home by now. It was awfully late, after all. He hadn't meant to stay so late, but Lee kept assigning more and more work to him, James, and Burr. He figured that must be how Lee climbed the ranks. By making others do his work for him. Then again, Lee was too stupid to get away with something like that.

Curiosity pricking him, Thomas strode by Alexander's cubicle. He knew it was pointless, the man probably left as soon as he could. Thomas found that the younger workers had no sense of commitment to their work when it came to overtime.

Color him surprised when he found the young man still at his desk, head down so close to his paper in concentration and correcting all the faults of the manuscript like his life depended on it. Thomas then noticed a pile of papers next to Hamilton's left arm. They were covered in distinct, red ink.

Hamilton had to have finished at least two-hundred pages so far.

Thomas stared for a moment, realising Hamilton was much too caught up in his work to notice him. 

He turned around and left with a shake of his head, checking his wrist watch. It was going on 9 pm. 

What an idiot, staying that late. Whatever, if the kid wanted to run himself into the ground on his first day that was fine by him. 

XxxxXxxxXxxx

A/N: Congrats! You made it to the end of this long ass 7,000+ words chapter. I really hope you guys liked this chapter and please remember to kudo, comment, bookmark, etc. It'd mean a lot. The next chapter will be up next weekend or the one after that because I have a bunch of tests and projects due soon. School sucks vHv

Also If you maybe wanna like check out my Jamilton art or come say hi my Instagram is @cup_of_spite. Am I allowed to promo myself? Yes I am this is my story xD 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None~

A/N: I'm fucking dying. I've been through hell and back trying to get this updated. It just wasn't happening with school. I literally had 4 tests and a 13 page research paper due all in the same week last week. So sorry about the 3 week wait, but again this chapter is super long. Like 9,000+ words.

Also can I just say how this fic is unintentionally really long. Like I added more plot points and just now I realised how long it's gonna be. Whoops?

Disclaimer: “Characters” aren't mine.

Warning: Little bit of steamy stuff in this chapter so beware.

XxxXxxxXxxx 

Thomas hummed to himself as he strode out of the elevator doors. In one hand, he held the gold, curved handle of his soaking wet, violet umbrella. In the other he swung his ring of keys around his pointer finger, seemingly without a care in the world. Walking down the hall, his dress shoes made undesirable squelching noises with each step. The water was surely going to be detrimental to the expensive leather, he grumbled inwardly.

Though, the Southerner supposed there must be a certain beauty to rain; he just hadn’t found it yet. Rain left everything drenched, clingy, and sloppy. Thomas much preferred clear, blue skies and the warm glow of sunlight against his dark skin- not some droplets of polluted water falling from the sky. A fresh downpour always managed to make the stench of New York City that much worse. It was at its foulest during the summer months when the sun would bake the wet concrete after the rainfall, enhancing the smell of sewage with a mixture of wet dog and ketchup when it was left out in the sun.

He stalked by the numerous amounts of empty, grey cubicles that lead to his office. Arriving to work early was his forte. By leaving to work earlier, he was able to beat some of the God awful traffic. However, the main reason was he didn’t have to greet as many coworkers with a strained smile. Some of his coworkers he genuinely liked, but there were more that he didn’t like. Thomas Jefferson considered himself a snake and he made no attempts to hide it. The coworkers that he despised, however, were wolves in sheep’s clothing. They hid behind fake smiles just as much as he did. At least he made his ill will apparent.

Just as he was about to shove his key into the door handle of his office, he paused. His grip on his umbrella tightened considerably as his eyes betrayed him by straying over to Hamilton's cubicle. 

A nagging little voice in his head told him to go sneak a peek. He thought James's was the only annoying voice in his life, but reality was proving him wrong each and every day with malicious intent.

In the end, his curiosity won the better of him. No amount of his well-raised, Southern discipline could quell such a thing as the human ambition to know.

Thomas let out a quiet, annoyed groan as he pocketed the keys and hefted the umbrella up on his shoulder to balance it there. 

He wondered if Hamilton was still there where he had left him the night before. Heavy doubt edged at this thought, but he still paid attention to his own inquisitive nature. With even steps he stalked over to the cubicle and poked his head in. Thomas was expecting to see an empty cubicle with the same grey he was used to, but he was quite shocked to find it wasn't unoccupied.

Crumpled over his desk, Hamilton's sleeping form rose and fell with soft snores over a mountain of papers that were covered in the red ink. Thomas stood for a moment, only being able to blink as the sight registered in his mind. After a heart beat, he hesitantly stepped forward, close enough that he could see the side of Hamilton's face that wasn't smooshed against the desk. Thomas's eyebrows knitted together as he noticed that when Hamilton slept all of the harsh lines that life brought were washed away from the young man's face. For once Hamilton's mouth wasn't pulled into a sneer and his eyes weren't burning with unadulterated rage. Truly, the small man seemed to run on spite alone.

Thomas cocked his head to the side as his eyes scanned over the papers that covered the full capacity of Hamilton's desk. Every single sheet had red scribbles on it. 

Hamilton must have stayed all night and finished correcting the entire manuscript. 

“Seriously?” He muttered to himself.

Thomas's eyes slid back to Hamilton's face, watching as small breaths escaped him. The Southerner couldn't decide whether he was impressed or thought Hamilton an idiot for staying the whole night for something he had a whole week to do. Whatever he felt, he wasn't quite sure what it was. It felt...different.

Maybe admiration for Hamilton's display of intense work ethic?

...No, that wasn't it.

Thomas did know how he felt about Hamilton looking so peaceful, though. To say the least, seeing the immigrant without his rough edges shook Thomas to his core. He didn't like it one bit. It felt too foreign. 

With a cruel smile, Thomas held up his dripping umbrella by the handle, pointing the tip towards Hamilton, and bringing his hand up to the cool metal rod of it. For a second, he debated if he really should disturb the kid, after all it was before 7:50am. Hamilton didn't really need to be awake yet. But he just couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to see the delightful little reaction that his action would surely bring. 

Thomas thumbed around the release hatch of the umbrella. He had made his decision.

He jammed the button. 

The umbrella sprung open, flicking its water off onto whatever lay in front of it. Including onto a poor, unsuspecting Hamilton who shot up from his slumber with a shout of surprise as the cold water flecked onto his skin.

XxxxXxxxX

Gasping, Alexander jumped up, eyes immediately searching for what had so suddenly awoken him as he wiped the drool from his chin. A gross ‘slurp’ sound accompanied it. His bleary eyes tried to focus on a figure that was stood behind him, evidently laughing at a funny joke. Blinking, his eyes turned to cold slits when he realised it was Jefferson in front of him that was clutching his stomach with laughter. Confused, Alexander touched his arm and felt water on it.

Why were there water beads on his skin?

Alexander made the connection when he spotted the still wet umbrella that Jefferson had clutched underneath his arm. 

“Wha- you prick!” Alexander pushed himself up from the chair that screeched in protest and onto wobbly legs. Being woken up so suddenly left him disorientated beyond belief. 

At fully turning his body to Jefferson, the Virginian broke out into more fits of laughter. It was a maniacal, callous laughter that was full of all the arrogance in the world.

“Guilty,” Jefferson snorted, biting his knuckle as tears appeared in his eyes’ waterlines, seemingly trying to stifle more fits of boisterous laughter. 

Alexander rubbed the sleep from his face with a groan. He only then realised he had not woken up in the comfort of his own apartment. Waking up to Jefferson filled him with disdain and confusion. It was the last thing in the world that he wanted.

He pushed in his chair and looked at his desk that was covered in the red marked papers.

It all came back to him. He had worked until the manuscript was finished, but he didn't really remember passing out. Alexander glanced around his desk until he found his desired glasses and slipped them onto his face. His attention then turned back to Jefferson who was still trying to contain his chuckling.

“Shut up, it's not that funny,” Alexander growled, straightening his tie that was now being worn for the third day in a row along with the rest of his clothing. He felt gross. Tired and gross.

Jefferson's lips pulled into a large, lopsided smirk as his eyes became hooded. “I think you will find out it is later on.”

He swallowed hard. The look Jefferson was giving him made him feel far too squeamish for this early in the morning. To say the least, he didn't like it one bit so he decided to ignore it.

With a frown, he simply rolled his eyes instead, not really catching Jefferson's drift or wanting to as he pushed past him. “What time is it?”

Jefferson pulled up his coat sleeve to reveal the same, high fashion watch that Alexander had noticed days earlier. “Almost 7am.”

Alexander ran a distressed hand through his hair as he all but stomped down the hall, “Shit.”

Amused, Jefferson followed closely behind him with his umbrella tucked under his arm and the prospect of getting started on his work early long forgotten. “Such eloquence you have, Pipsqueak.”

“Bite me.” Alexander picked up his pace, for some reason hoping he would lose Jefferson, but with the man's long legs that didn't seem possible even with the crowd of workers that began to swarm into the building. Each one he passed gave him a weird stare and others looked at him with their mouths hanging wide open. 

What the Hell was their problem?

If it wasn't clear already, Alexander wasn't a morning person. At all. He needed at least eight cups of coffee a day to function properly. He was aware he was addicted, but going cold turkey would do more harm than good to his caffeine hyped body. One day he figured he might as well just carry around an IV bag filled with espresso and stab it into a vein. It would be much more efficient.

“I would, but I'm much more interested in seeing what you're doing,” Jefferson snarked, keeping his pace with his thumbs stuck casually in the corners of his pants pockets.

Alexander turned into the break room and stomped to the coffee machine with a dark scowl. “Getting my morning coffee before I murder someone.”

Jefferson leaned against the counter as he watched Alexander prepare to make a cup of coffee with all of the pent up rage in the world. Thinking to himself, Jefferson crossed his arms over his chest and wondered aloud, “I've heard of children needing naps when they're cranky. I wasn't aware it also applied to angry, little men with coffee.”

As Alexander poured the delicious, dark contents into a white mug that he had found in the cupboard, he asked with a too highly of a pleasant tone for someone who had just been insulted. “Jefferson, do you like your clothes how they are?”

Jefferson quirked his eyebrow and glanced down at his appearance. He tugged on his blood red tie between his forefinger and thumb. “Of course I like my clothes. They were ordered from one of the best tailors in France with me specifically in mind,” he finished with a sinfully prideful, grin. Oh, how the rich take pleasure in their materialistic things. The only inanimate thing that Alexander really could ever see himself prizing over a person was coffee and maybe some of his favorite books such as the Great Gatsby or The Prince…

But that was stretching it. He preferred, in all its cheesiness: love. Even if he could never have it.

“Then fuck off before I throw this at you,” Alexander spat out between clenched teeth. Jefferson's smirk widened drastically. 

He wagged his finger, “Tsk, tsk. Don't let Mr. Washington hear you speaking like that, Hamilton. He isn't fond of that sort of language at all.”

Alexander brought the rim of the mug to his lips, rivaling Jefferson's smirk with a coy one of his own, “I wouldn't dream of talking like this in front of someone that I respect.”

Jefferson bristled, smirk wiped off his face in a flash and fists gripping the sides of the counter to contain his bubbling anger, “You better bite your tongue-”

Once again, Jefferson's fit of rage was cut short by the arrival of someone. The man walked into the room, and regarded Alexander and Jefferson with great reluctance as he made his way to the coffee machine.

However, Alexander barely paid them any mind. He was too enveloped in forking the hot liquid in the cup down his throat, savoring how it warmed his chilled nose as he drank. All while his eyes never broke connect with Jefferson's.

They were taunting Jefferson. Daring him to carry on his onslaught.

Once he drained the entire cup, he lowered it from his lips and found that the new arriver from earlier was preparing his own cup of coffee and staring at him with look of utter bewilderment. This new comer was just barely taller than himself with a dark complexion and shaved head. He seemed to have a certain softness to his character, but with a touch of an underlying trait that Alexander couldn't seem to identify.

The man blinked and directed his attention over to Jefferson who was recomposing himself. “Did you tell him…?”

Jefferson pulled down his shirt cuffs and shook his head, his infamous smirk returning almost immediately.

Alexander's eyebrows knitted together. “Tell me what?”

“Nothing, Darlin’,” Jefferson shook his head and pushed himself up from where he had been leaning on the counter. 

There it was again. That stupid, degrading nickname that was way too endearing for his liking. Alexander was beginning to prefer ‘pipsqueak’.

Alexander opened his mouth to retort, but then an outstretched hand was being shoved towards him. “Aaron Burr,” the man stated, clearly he finished preparing his coffee at the right moment before Alexander could spit out any vile words that danced on the edge of his tongue. 

The immigrant clasped his mouth shut and firmly shook the others icy hand with his. “Alexander Hamilton.” 

“Pleasure,” Burr gave a small smile, picked up his coffee and quickly exited the break room, leaving Jefferson and Alexander to fill the room with their endless tension that couldn't have even been sliced by a chainsaw.

After Burr left, the room fell silent. Jefferson stood staring at him and Alexander stared right back with a haughty air and arms crossed over his chest.

The silence broke with a sigh of Jefferson's. He turned his back to Alexander and began to head out the door, clearly growing bored. “Go fetch me a coffee from Lafayette. I can’t drink the crap they supply here. Afterall, you know what I like so make it snappy.”

“I'm not some mutt you can order around to fetch your sticks,” Alexander grounded out.

Jefferson glanced at him from over his shoulder with a sneer, “You're an assistant. It's in the job description, Pup. Oh, and you might want to grab an umbrella, it’s quite the downpour out there.” With that he left, making his way to his office before Alexander could even breathe a word in retaliation. 

He fumed, striding out of the break room with his fists clenched at his sides. Why did he have to be assigned to the most arrogant, insulting asshole in the world? Now he had to go out in the cold rain to grab the hick some coffee just because his ‘refined’, elitist taste buds couldn't bare the taste of clearance priced coffee.

He was definitely going to spit in his coffee this time. No amount of moral center would hold him back.

Alexander was so lost in his irritated, racing thoughts that he nearly bumped into someone walking in the opposite direction in which he was going. “Sorry-” he muttered, stopping dead in his tracks when he looked up at who it was.

Washington gawked at him with his eyebrows drawn together, “Son, what's all over your face?”

The immigrant blinked. He pulled out his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and clicked the reverse camera button. 

His eyes rivaled the size of dinner plates when he saw his own face staring back at him.

There were scrawls of red ink all over half of his face. Everywhere. He recognized it to be his own, messy handwriting. Lines and lines of corrections that he had made to the manuscript were reversed and imprinted on the left side of his face. The side that was pressed against the desk as he slept.

The worst part was, to say the least, it was smeared and bloody looking; especially on his cheek. 

He was going to kill Jefferson for letting him walk around like that. Like an idiot at a place where people already assumed he wasn't worth his salt. Alexander valued honor above all else and his was just made a mockery of.

“Well…,” Alexander began, trying to choose his words carefully through gritted teeth, “I fell asleep at my desk last night while doing an assignment that Jefferson gave me. When I finished it, I suppose I must have passed out.”

He didn't know how Washington would take the news of him falling asleep at work. Technically, he didn't fall asleep on the job, though. It was overtime. 

Washington clasped his hands behind his back, “Which assignment?”

Alexander ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “He gave me a manuscript to edit, it was a murder mystery.”

Humming, Washington stroked his chin, “Yes, I gave that to him to do.” After a pause, Washington rose an eyebrow at him, “That was a substantially sized manuscript. You said you finished it all?”

Alexander stood a little straighter, straightening his spine and pushing his shoulders back. Much like a soldier would. “Yes, sir.”

The commanding exterior that Washington always wore as his front instantly melted into a warm, grin that the immigrant felt drawn to. He clasped Alexander on the back with a large, comforting hand, “Well done, son! I thought hiring you was a good idea and I thank you for proving me correct in my assumption.”

Alexander easily grinned back, feeling the delightful glow of pride swell in his chest, “Of course, sir.”

Washington was glad to have hired him. Knowing that alone made some of Alexander's great doubts in himself trickle away.

Washington gave a small chuckle, “Now I must ask you to go get cleaned up after you come back from wherever you're headed.” Once the words left his mouth, Washington's demeanor once again changed to the mysterious one that he had during Alexander’s interview. He couldn't quite pin what it was that felt so suddenly off.

“Where are you headed off to anyways?” He asked, tongue seeming to go thick in his mouth.

“Jefferson told me to get him a coffee from Liberty Cafe. I won't be gone long,” he replied.

Washington's eyebrows nearly shot to his hairline as his eyes widened a tad. He gave a strained, nervous laugh that was short cut. “Oh, really? Do you mind if I accompany you there? I haven't had my breakfast this morning yet, after all.”

Alexander would have normally thought the request to be nothing of significance. However, the way Washington was acting out of the blue just struck him as odd. There was something there and he didn't know what it was. 

“I wouldn't mind at all, sir.”

XxxxXxxxXxxx

Fortunately for him, Washington was unsurprisingly kind enough to share his large umbrella with Alexander. Jefferson was right, if he didn't know any better he would say it was storming, but the thunder and lightning had failed to make their presence known as of yet. 

Alexander dug his nails into his palms as he and Washington strode down the long stretch of concrete sidewalk that led to Liberty Cafe. The immigrant hoped the weather wouldn't escalate past a harsh rainfall. He wouldn't say that he had a phobia of storms per se….they just jumbled his nerves and shot all rational thought in his mind. Ever since a particularly powerful hurricane hit his old home of Nevis, Alexander became very anxious during storms. He could still function during them so they weren't totally debilitating, he just rather not hear or see them. Earbuds always came to the rescue, he found.

The entire walk there, Washington didn't utter a single word to him. The man seemed tense judging by the way he held a death grip around his umbrella. If Alexander didn't know any better he would say that Washington was shaking. But he didn't dare look up at the man's face. He was afraid of what he may find.

It came to a surprise when Washington spoke up, barely audible above the rain pelting the ground below in a deafening crescendo. “I'll join you in a moment, I'm going to go drop this off,” Washington said, pulling a damp, envelope out of his pocket to show him.

Alexander nodded and stepped under the headings of the stores to avoid the rain as Washington left to a nearby mailbox with the umbrella. The immigrant turned back to the entrance of the cafe and stepped in. The familiar scene of customers sitting around tables with their phones or newspapers out, perfect pictures of leisure mixed with the enticing aroma of coffee, felt oddly comforting to him. 

He sighed as a small smile graced his lips, stalking over to the counter. He peered behind it and found no animated Frenchman around. Alexander stared down at the little silver bell that sat next to the tip jar.

The same bell Jefferson had rang perpetually to annoy him merely days ago. So much had changed in such a short amount of time.

Bringing his hand up, Alexander tapped the round nub in the middle of the bell. It let out a ring and without even a second passing, the doors behind the counter burst open revealing Lafayette carrying a tray full of freshly baked pastries.

“Bonjour!” Lafayette cooed, setting down the tray onto the glass case and began to stow away the pastries in their designated piles without sparing Alexander a glance. “What can I get for you today, monsieur?” 

Alexander leant against the glass case with an endearing grin. He didn't realise how much he had missed the Frenchman and it had only been a day.

“The most pretentious coffee you have, mon ami,” Alexander requested, voice dripping fondness.

Lafayette glanced up, face immediately matching Alexander's with a wide, beaming grin. “Alexander!” He shot up from behind the counter and reached over it, wrapping his arms around Alexander's shoulders in a tight embrace. He then suddenly pulled back with a quizzical look, “Alexander...what is on your face?”

“Don't ask.”

Lafayette stared for a moment before he let out a chuckle, embracing him once more. “Mon Cher, comment ca va? Thomas not giving you too much trouble, oui?” Lafayette pecked both his cheeks and pulled back, smile seemingly growing brighter by the second.

Alexander gave a nervous laugh, “I wish I could say he wasn't giving me trouble, but trust me I'm putting up a fight.”

Boy was that true.

Lafayette withdrew from the embrace with a snort, “Probably for the best. Thomas needs someone to whip him into shape anyways, Alexander. That fille he was with during university seemed to do it…”

This piqued his interest.

With a quirked eyebrow, Alexander asked tentatively, “Who?”

Lafayette placed his forefinger against his lips in thought. He hummed as his eyes looked up, trying to recall. After a moment he shrugged, “I'm not completely sure, mon ami. I believe her name was Mary or something alike?”

Alexander gave a slow nod. Mary? Who was Mary? The short man's eyebrows furrowed. More importantly why did he care about the details of Jefferson's love life.

He didn't, of course. It was just that Jefferson seemed like such a mystery to him right now. That was all that it was.

“It doesn't matter I guess. Anyways, I need a coffee for Jeffershit. He didn't tell me specifically what he wanted, so I'm assuming he thinks I remember what he ordered when we met. As if my life revolves around him,” Alexander let out an irritated sigh.

Lafayette faltered, “Do you remember what was in it at all?”

Alexander frowned, “Not really. Just give me a regular coffee. I'll bring cream and sugar with so he can make it how he likes.”

The Frenchman nodded and filled a regular sized cup with simple, untouched black coffee. He stuck a lid on top of it and placed it in front of Alexander. He then turned to the register and punched in some numbers. “Three-fifty please, Alexander-”

Alexander, who was pulling out his wallet, stopped his task at hand and glanced up to see why Lafayette suddenly stopped speaking. But Lafayette wasn't looking at him. He was looking straight ahead with his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide. Turning around, Alexander saw Washington walking towards them.

However, Washington didn't look like the usual strong, commanderlike man that he was. He seemed almost...small, in a way. This Washington seemed unsure and reluctant to approach them with a nervous smile.

“Hello, Lafayette,” Washington greeted, looking like he was about to retreat back out of the cafe doors at any moment.

All of Lafayette's warmth seeped out of him. He clenched his jaw tight and glared down Washington's eyes how a man would stare down a barrel of a gun. “Hello, George.”

Alexander glanced between the two back and forth. There was an alarming amount of tension being passed over his head. Alexander turned his attention back down to his wallet and pulled out the only four dollars that were there. He couldn't believe he was spending all of the money that he had on him on Jefferson. So much for getting breakfast, or even lunch for that matter.

Alexander awkwardly slipped the bills onto the counter. Lafayette's hand smacked down onto the paper bills like one of those venus fly traps and swept them towards himself. He shoved them inside of the register drawer with his jaw set, handing Alexander back his fifty cents.

Hesitantly, Alexander picked up the two quarters from the counter and pocketed them.

The three of them fell into the most tense silence of his life until Washington looked down at him from the side of his eye, “Alexander, I'm sure Jefferson would appreciate his coffee. I'll see you back at the office and inform him we have a meeting when I return. I would like you to be there as well.”

Lafayette's breath hitched as his eyes travelled to meet Alexander's, surely realising Washington was with Alexander. The Frenchman’s eyes were filled with something akin to betrayal. They then hardened once again with a scowl. Alexander could only blink dumbfoundedly at the sudden aggression being shot his way from such a dear friend.

Taking the coffee in hand, Alexander mumbled a “yes, sir” over his shoulder before sparing Lafayette a one last glance of concern. 

The immigrant quickly walked out of the cafe, hearing Lafayette starting to curse in a string of French.

Alexander was utterly confused.

XxxxXxxxXxxx

By the time Alexander made it back across the busy street to the office, he was drenched and had almost been hit by a racing taxi twice. Mixing that with his utter confusion of what had happened back in the cafe between Lafayette and Washington coupled with the prospect of having to go give Jefferson his coffee like some errand boy equaled a very bad morning.

As Alexander stepped out of the elevator doors, he shoved his hand into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone. He quickly clicked on Lafayette’s contact and texted him, asking if he was all right.

Alexander shoved the phone back into his pocket and made his way towards Jefferson's office. On the trip there he passed Eliza who gasped and shot up from her seat when she saw him.

“Alexander!”

He halted on the spot and turned to her, “Eliza?”

Gasping again, she strode over to him, taking his chin between her first finger and thumb. “Alexander is this blood?” She asked, inspecting the red ink on his face.

Alexander tried to suppress his heart from trying to eject from his chest in that moment. “No, it's uh, ink from a pen.”

She slowly let go of him, concern leaving her inch by inch with a small laugh. “You could have fooled me. It looks like you're dripping blood.”

Alexander sighed, “I haven't had the chance to wipe it off yet.”

Eliza sat back down in her cubicle, “I'd do it soon if I were you. Looks like you just walked through hell and back.”

Alexander nodded and continued walking back down the hall. “Believe me, I have,” he mumbled under his breath.

Soon, he arrived at Jefferson's door and pushed it open. Once again, without knocking. Before Jefferson could even make a snide comment, Alexander was trudging across the room over to his desk. He set the cup of coffee down onto the desk in front of Jefferson who just eyed it with his mouth shut and eyebrows knitted together.

Jefferson began to speak, “Hamilton-”

Alexander waved him off and collapsed into one of the plush chairs designed for guests in front of the desk. Proper posture thrown to the wind, Alexander slouched all the way down in the chair and stared ahead into nothing, trying to calm his breathing. The heavy rain outside was not helping his nerves.

Jefferson slowly picked up the coffee, eyeing Alexander the entire time. “You look like shit.”

Alexander grunted, “I feel like shit, thanks. Also you owe me three-fifty,” he rubbed his hand down his face, pulling it back and seeing the red ink smeared all over his palm.

Jefferson brought the cup to his lips, “I'll reimburse you later.” The Southerner then took a sip and nearly spit it out on the spot, “The hell is this?”

Alexander groaned and dug into his pocket, pulling out a fistful of creams and sugar packets that he had grabbed on the way out of the cafe. He slapped them down onto the desk. “I would like to be reimbursed now. It's plain I couldn't remember what you liked. Next time write it down.”

Jefferson's nose scrunched up in disgust as he dumped sugar after sugar into the cup. “I'll give you the money later you can wait.”

Alexander glared. There was no way he was going to be able to eat today and his stomach growling in anguish wasn't helping.

“Washington says we have a meeting when he gets back.”

Jefferson stopped dumping cream into his coffee with a raised eyebrow, “We?”

“He said he would like me to be there,” Alexander explained simply before his lips pulled into a tight smirk, “Afraid that he likes me more?”

Jefferson rolled his eyes, “Immature.”

Alexander rolled his eyes in reply, drawn out and mocking like. He stood up from the chair with a loud sigh and began looking around the office once again to entertain himself. Even when he was as exhausted as he was now, Alexander still couldn't seem to slow down or take breaks for long.

Jefferson watched him closely, preparing for the immigrant to start berating his beliefs once more. Instead, Alexander stopped in front of a picture of a woman that had a glittering smile. The woman was obviously biracial but her complexion was fair, almost white in appearance, and her dark hair was wavy instead of tightly curled. He wondered to himself if this was Mary.

“What are you staring at?” Jefferson asked, already getting defensive at Alexander's gawking. 

“Mary?” 

“What?”

Alexander turned back to him with his arms crossed over his chest, “Lafayette mentioned a Mary. I was only curious.”

He frowned at the thought of his beloved French friend. Recalling the look of betrayal that Lafayette had cast him made it that much worse. He hadn't felt the buzz of his cell phone in his pocket yet, Lafayette must be ignoring him. Alexander wasn't sure if asking Washington what had happened would be a good idea either.

Jefferson tensed, lips pulling into a thin line and face becoming hardened stone. “You mean ‘Martha’ and I must ask that you refrain from discussing my private life with others.”

There was something hidden behind that mask of stone. Something vulnerable and raw that Alexander could just barely catch a glimpse of in the other man's eyes. Whatever it was, it was so heavily guarded and forced deep down inside of the Southerner that Alexander knew he had no chance of squeezing anymore information out of him.

But Alexander Hamilton was a resilient young man that didn't know when to quit.

“Is this her?” He pressed despite the twisting in his gut known as sympathy telling him to drop the topic. His prying seemed to be almost painful to Jefferson.

The Southerner scowled, “No, that is a picture of Sally.”

Alexander spared the photograph one last glance over before striding back over to Jefferson's desk and plopping down into the seat from earlier. Jefferson watched him as a word wasn't uttered between the two for a short minute.

“Who’s Sally?” The immigrant probed again.

Jefferson rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer, “My partner. Do you intend to continue this game of twenty questions or are you finished now?”

Alexander looked down at his tie, playing with it a bit. The only reply that he could manage was “oh”. It was, admittedly, dejected sounding. Before he could help himself it had escaped his lips out into the open. Left there to taunt him.

Even he didn't know why it came out sounding so disappointed? Maybe because someone like Jefferson could find a significant other and he can't even manage to land a date on Tinder. 

Jefferson's attention slid back to Alexander who was still staring down at his tie. He suddenly sported a wolfish, wide grin, “What's the matter, Hamilton? Are you jealous?”

Was he? No. Well, sort of. But he still didn't know of what.

“You wish,” Alexander gave a cocky snort despite how small he was feeling under the Southerner’s piercing gaze. 

Jefferson shrugged, “Maybe.”

Alexander blanched, “Wait-”

The door to the office swung open with a fit of coughing. Alexander turned around to see Madison hacking his lungs up into a tissue with a pained look. 

Jefferson sat patiently with Alexander whose ears were growing pinker by the second until Madison was done with practically dying in the doorway. Once he was done with one last little cough, Madison straightened his back up with a sniff. 

“Washington has convened a meeting. He expects everyone down there in five minutes,” he informed them.

“Any idea what it's for? We just had one,” Jefferson sighed, leaning back in his chair and popping his aching joints much to Alexander's distaste. He hated when people did that. Yet, it would be lucky for him if Jefferson accidentally snapped his own neck.

Madison simply offered a small shrug as he turned back around and began to leave, “Seemed important the way he spoke of it.”

Jefferson hummed and stood up, rolling his neck before meeting Alexander’s gaze once more. The immigrant hated that he could feel a distant flush lingering across his face and he only hoped that he could use the red ink smeared all over him as an excuse.

Unfortunately, Jefferson must have noticed it because his smirk grew ever wider. The Southerner circled around his desk and began to leave. However, he stopped right beside Alexander who had his teeth ground so tightly together they were sure to shatter. The immigrant refused to look up at him. 

Jefferson didn't look at him either as he leant down so close to Alexander's ear that his hair stood on edge from the warm puffs of air that he could feel against his freezing skin as Jefferson spoke, “You might want to go get cleaned up first.” 

With that he left. Expensive loafers clicking all the way down the hall, leaving Alexander an irritated wreck in the chair. 

The immigrant let out the breath he didn't know that he was holding in as he got up to go use the restroom and hopefully make himself look a tad presentable.

XxxxXxxxXxxx

He exited the restroom with the red ink effectively wiped away from his face, his hair neatly done up into a tight bun and his clothes tucked in and fixed from their previous disarray. It had taken him a good minute or so, however to get rid of the heat in his face. Why did Jefferson have to be so fucking impossible and frustrating.

He sighed, probably for the thousandth time that day and made his way to the meeting room that his fellow coworkers were flocking into. Each one of them definitely seemed a lot older and richer than him with their flashy wares and beginning wrinkles. Begrudgingly, he did spot some people his age, but he was quick to recognize them as squabbling interns and assistants. Alexander tried to convince himself that he was different from them. He wasn't just trying to pay his bills (even though that was a perk). He was different, right? Alexander had his eyes on the prize and so much motivation that he was bound to be successful. Deep down, though, he had an inkling that he wasn't any better than them. Jefferson made him run stupid errands so he knew it too.

Holding his head high, Alexander swallowed his fears and strode into the meeting room with all of the pent up spite and confidence that he could muster. He never ran low on the spite that drove him, luckily. When he entered the room, no one really noticed him. He didn't know if he should have been thankful for that or not, really.

In the meeting room there was a long stretch of table. At one end of the table sat a few familiar faces such as Jefferson, Madison, and Burr along with other highly stuffy looking people. On the other end of the table were the few choice assistants that he had seen filtering inside a moment before. 

Noticing an empty seat next to Jefferson, Alexander had a strong urge to sit next to the man just to be able to have some sort of secure familiarity, but he knew that wasn't his place. Also he would be damned if he ever found himself hiding behind Jefferson's coattails. At that moment, the Southerner glanced up and met his eyes. As if knowing what Alexander was thinking about, Jefferson sat back in his chair with a calm and collected smirk and dark eyes challenging him. 

Alexander all but scoffed as he made his way to a seat that was empty amongst the assistants and surprisingly near Eliza and Maria. Jefferson's eyes never left him though.

The room fell into a hushed silence of respect as Washington entered the meeting room. Alexander closely watched the man as he made his way to the head of the table with the higher ups. Washington once again seemed composed, revealing none of the raw emotion that Alexander had witnessed back at the cafe. The man had resumed his usual authoritative state with his hands firmly clasped behind his back. 

Alexander really did wonder what had happened, but that was a matter for later.

Studying each of his workers faces, Washington began to speak, “I have called this meeting today,” he began, tone even, “Because we are gravely lacking proper funds. As you may know, our investor, Friedrich Steuben, is a generous man when it comes to donating to our company.”

His eyes scanned the crowd once more as some people nodded their heads. Alexander glanced to Jefferson who was, shockingly, paying such intense attention to Washington that he was practically hanging on the leader's every word. Alexander turned his attention back to the man speaking, trying to seem as professional as Jefferson looked. 

Washington began to pace slowly, “However, King's Publishing has recently appealed to him greatly. The influx that once went to us is now being given to them. I called you all here today to have a sort of think tank, if you will, to come up with ideas of how we can save money and get the funds being sent back our way.”

As soon as he finished, a man sitting near Jefferson let out a loud, arrogant snort accompanied by a sneer stretched across his face. “Course King's trying to charm him and Steuben’s falling for it? Unbelievable. Steuben’ll go bankrupt investing in that idiot,” the man spat.  
Washington sighed, “While that may be, Mr. Lee, King is not our concern right now. Our concern is on our own company primarily. Slander will not help our financial situation. So does anyone have any ideas?”

The man with black hair swept over one eye known as ‘Lee’ slouched back down into his chair. Alexander looked at the men at the other side of the table that were the picture of calmness. The immigrant could practically see the gears turning in the heads of Jefferson, Madison, Burr, Lee’s and some old man that he didn't know the name of that sat next to the empty chair designated for Washington himself. The other men sitting near Washington looked dull.

Next to Alexander, the assistants shifted nervously in their seats. He wondered if they had any ideas and were just suppressing them to avoid embarrassment or if they just didn't want to be called on for an idea because they had none.

Finally, Jefferson spoke up with his thumb stroking the stumble on his chin, “Fire any unneeded employees,” the Southerner’s eyes flicked over to the lackeys sitting beside Alexander, “And cut any other costs that are unnecessary.”

Washington nodded, seeming to mull over the idea as several people around him started to suddenly feel insecure about their jobs. Alexander too felt sudden instability in his new position. Not to mention he felt that Jefferson's words were entirely stupid and a horrible solution. Firing employees is what comes with running a company, but mass firing them in the end is detrimental to the company and the employees.

“Anyone else have any ideas?” Washington asked.

Alexander glanced around once more. He had an idea, but he knew that he was supposed to be just observing and learning like the other assistants and lowly employees that sat at the far end of the table. He then looked back to Eliza and Maria Who had their mouths shut firmly as well.

“Mr. Washington, I implore you to think more about Mr. Jefferson's idea. Our company can cut simple costs and it will solve our momentary problem,” Madison added.

They had to be kidding right? It was a terrible idea! While it would be a plausible solution, it's one that wouldn't last for the long term. Madison even said it would solve it ‘momentarily’.

Alexander could feel the words bubbling up in the back of his throat like vomit. He gripped the side of the table hard, digging his nails into the wood. He knew, better than anyone, to not oneup superiors. In fact, he had been fired twice in his lifetime for that same act. 

Jefferson nodded, “I can personally make a list of what can be cut out-”

“That's a terrible idea,” the words practically bursted out of Alexander on their own.

Everyone's heads snapped to stare at him with their eyes wide or glaring. But he tried to ignore the assistants giving him bug eyes and the executives shooting daggers at him.

Alexander gazed unwaveringly straight into the eyes of Washington from all the way on the other side of the table. Washington stared back and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Hamilton, what do you suggest, then?” Washington crossed his arms over his chest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jefferson fuming in his seat. It brought the immigrant the smug satisfaction that he needed to continue.

Alexander stood up from his chair and pushed it in, quickly making his way to the front of the room before he lost his nerve. He went to the whiteboard behind Washington and picked up one of the markers and uncapped it. With the cheap ass, dry erase marker he began writing on the board with the squeaks that those damn markers always make.

Alexander finished writing his first point and stepped back to reveal the words ‘contingency plan’ on the board.

Everyone stared with their eyebrows furrowed.

“I propose multiple aspects to solve this problem. First, a contingency plan,” he pointed to the words on the board, “A contingency plan is a plan that a business must come up with that addresses the worst possible case scenarios that may befall the company. It's obvious we must not have one if sudden lack of investors is affecting us so much. So, we need to come up with a contingency plan to avoid anything such as this effecting us again in the future. It will also preserve us in the long run.”

Alexander turned back around to the board and wrote another point, this one said ‘budgeting’. 

He once again stepped back and pointed to it, “We need to pay attention to our income and more specifically how much we spend and on what. Every little cost needs to be documented, and as Mr. Jefferson suggested, the unnecessary costs should be done away with. As long as they are absolutely unnecessary. If our income is still less than what we're spending then we can cut more. Furthermore, expectations for sales based on passed sales need to be made so we can better plan for dips in funds. That's where the contingency plan also comes in.”

“Lastly, Mr. Lee did make a point as well. I'm not really sure who King is, but if he can sway our earnings so much simply by charming the investor, Mr. Steuben, then maybe we should be trying to gain his favor as well,” Alexander snapped the cap on the marker and set it down. 

Only then did he really look at the other's reactions. He felt his heart lodge in his throat and his palms begin to sweat as everyone just...stared at him with such wide eyes. Even Jefferson's mouth was slightly agape.

Lord, don't let his brief experience in Nevis fail him now.

“Oh my God,” Burr breathed to himself.

“Oh my God is right,” Eliza grinned.

Washington finally opened his mouth that had been previously, firmly clamped shut. “Meeting adjourned. Jefferson, Hamilton, I want you to follow me to my office.”

Alexander swallowed the lump in his throat. 

XxxxXxxxXxxx

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jefferson seethed as they walked side by side to Washington's office.

Alexander sighed, “I was thinking I should try to save the company I just got hired at!” He suddenly whirled on him and poked a finger into Jefferson's chest, “Let's talk about what were you thinking? Really, Jefferson, firing people as a first resort? How much of an asshole can you be!”

Jefferson scowled, “Know your fucking place, Hamilton.”

With that the Southerner sped ahead and entered Washington's office without him.

Alexander glared at the man's back and stomped in after him. When he entered the room, he saw that Washington was standing at his window, waiting for them.

“I'm glad you could make it,” Washington said.

Alexander stepped next to Jefferson and began trying to explain himself immediately, “Sir, I-”

Washington held his hand up, effectively shutting him up. Alexander's mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth.

“Alexander, son, the plan is brilliant.”

Alexander blinked. He couldn't believe his ears. Neither could Jefferson apparently because he let out a scoff, not even trying to hold it back.

“Really?” 

Washington nodded. “Alexander, I want you to go back to your desk and begin drafting a plan. If you find yourself needing help, I advise you to talk to Eliza Schuyler. Jefferson, I would like to have a word.”

Alexander slowly looked between the two. Jefferson's jaw was set tight with his hands clenched into fists at his side. Washington wasn't even looking at him anymore. He was holding eye contact with Jefferson.

Slowly, Alexander backed away and set out to do what he was told. He knew he'd get the onslaught of Jefferson's wrath later.

As he was making his way down the hall, his stomach let its presence be known by a loud gurgle. The immigrant quickly whipped out his phone and sent John a text.

A.Ham: Can we have takeout tonight?

John Turtles: Takeout and movie night?

A.Ham: Sounds great. Hey have you heard from Laf?

John Turtles: No why? 

A.Ham: It's nothing.

XxxXxxxXxxx

Alexander shovelled the noodles into his throat one after the other as John walked over to the TV that sat in the middle of the room and began putting in the movie ‘Night at the Museum’.

He had spent the greater part of his work day tackling the beginnings of the financial plan for the company. For Christs sake he was supposed to be an editor...but if he could prove his worth this way then so be it. To say the least, Alexander had made it 43 pages into the draft of the plan when he was ready to finally head home. Luckily, after the meeting in Washington's office Alexander didn't see Jefferson for the rest of the day. He had a feeling that Jefferson's anger towards him would only brew overnight. Oh well.

He grumbled incoherent words to himself as he picked up the bottle of corona next to his Chinese takeout and began chugging the rest of its contents.

John turned back to him and sighed, “Alex, are you ok?”

Alexander nodded and sat the glass bottle down with a soft belch. “Yeahhh. Fantastic. Can I get another one of these?” He pointed to the bottle.

John nodded and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle for himself and another for Alexander. With beers in hand, he retreated back to the couch and sat next to Alexander, handing him a bottle. The immigrant immediately popped the cap off and began to chug that one too.

John watched as he sipped his beer, “Alex, slow down, ok? They're not gonna run out. Well, I mean they might if you keep chuggin em!”

Alexander stretched out his aching joints on the couch, “He's just so frustrating, John! Jefferson is the biggest dick in the world and his mission in life is to make mine worseee.”

John rolled his eyes with a chuckle, smoothing the hair out of Alexander's eyes, “I'm sure that's not true, man.”

The immigrant leaned subconsciously into the touch as he once more brought the wet, cold glass to his lips and took a swig. “I don't know, John.”

The taller young man grinned and leaned back into the couch next to Alexander as he picked up the remote and hit the play button. “Just try to relax, Alex. You don't have to go back until tomorrow so for now just chill, ok?”

Alexander gave a groggy nod, “Yeah, I guess. Do you have any clothes I can borrow tonight?”

John gave a nod and got back up, leaving Alexander's side suddenly feeling cold. For some reason he missed the warmth.

Stumbling to his closet, John took out an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and threw them over to Alexander who began to strip without a care. John halted in place and couldn't help but stare as the immigrant pulled on the pair of sweatpants over his bony hips.

Maybe it was his drunken stupor. Maybe it was him being an idiot. Or maybe it was some emotion that he had hidden or shoved down and didn't know he had until it surfaced.

Alexander smirked at him, “Like what you see?”

John's breath hitched, grip tightening around the remote in his hand. The man's eyes were wide with alarm. 

Alexander's smirk fell as he began to sense the sudden tension that seeped into the atmosphere around them. Truth be told, he hadn't known John for very long. He didn't know which way the man swung and Alexander knew sometimes straight guys got really uncomfortable with his play flirting. In his haze that the alcohol was starting, Alexander began to explain himself the best that he could, “Hey, John- I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you or anything I was just playing arou-”

John stepped over the coffee table and smashed his lips against Alexander's. The immigrant's eyebrows shot to his hairline as he fumbled to say something while John's mouth was working against his lips. Even if he could say something he wasn't sure what it would be. He couldn't think straight. 

Suddenly, John pulled back with a gasp, “Alex, I'm sorry- I just- I don't know why I did that. I'm so sorry!”

The rain outside droned out all of his rational thinking.

A dopey grin pulled itself across Alexander's face. “John, I didn't push you away did I?”

John stared. Once he got Alexander's drift he pushed the short man down onto the couch in an instant and crawled on top of him, the movie long forgotten. 

Fisting a hand in Alexander's hair, John pressed their mouths together once again and began to gingerly mould their lips together. Another one of John's hands came up to cradle the immigrant’s face. Something about John's gestures were so loving and intimate, but so painfully slow.

Alexander was never patient. He wasn't drunk, but he definitely wasn't sober either. The short man brought his hands up and raked them through John's curly hair, tugging lightly on the coils. He then brought his knee up between John's legs and began to gently knead the sensitive area, eliciting a gasp from the other.

Alexander took this as his opportunity to slip his tongue into John's mouth and begin exploring each and every crevice. Getting the hint at the pace he wished to move, John pulled back from the kiss and began to nip, bite, and suck all the way down Alexander's neck. The action was, for some reason, desperate and needy. As if John had been waiting for this. Alexander decided that was a problem for his future, sober self to deal with.

His lips stopped right on the immigrant’s pulse point and began to swirl his tongue around the sensitive skin while sucking and teasing it. Letting out a small moan, Alexander's eyes fluttered shut as his mind drifted into a drunk, pleasure fueled bliss. As he pushed his knee further into John's groin, making the other that much harder with a hungry whisper of Alexander's name escaping him. 

He let out a groan as John began to sink further down his body to his growing need. 

Everything felt so...amazing. There was just one problem, however. 

When he looked down at John, he didn't see John's brilliant, hazel hued eyes meeting his.

Instead, Alexander saw a familiar pair of dark, calculated eyes staring back at him.

 

XxxxXxxxXxxx

A/N: Holy fuck am I exhausted. I hope you liked this long, long, long ass chapter. Now, let's get one thing straight, I'm not really a Lams shipper. Like I am, but I much prefer Jamilton. So there is a method to my madness. I'm not having them hook up just to hook up, ok? I need sleep now I'm dying xD 

Also I'm going to be editing old chapters. Like nothing extreme or adding more information. I'll just be fixing up the writing.

Kudo, bookmark, and/or comment please! (Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorryyyyy

A/N: Mmmmmm I don't really like this chapter I'm so sorry. It's not very long either. Only about 5,000 words? I would have fixed what I disliked about it, but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer so I'm so sorry if this sucks total ass. I waited last minute to start writing this like literally the large majority of this was written today. So again, I apologize.

XxxXxxxXxxx 

 

(The Day Before)

Thomas held Washington's gaze as he heard the door click shut behind him, announcing Hamilton's leave.

As soon as both of the men were sure the immigrant was long gone, Thomas took a seat in one of the chairs next to Washington's desk. Washington took his own seat in his leather, rolling chair.

The two men sat in silence, regarding each other with equally racing thoughts. Thomas crossed his leg over the other, sitting back into the chair to get himself comfy. It was becoming obvious to him that Washington had no intention of saying a single word to him until he spoke first. The thing was, however, Thomas wasn't intending on speaking either until Washington said something first.

Their staring match didn't seem like it was coming to an end any time soon. Eventually, Washington's eyes hardened as he opened his mouth to finally speak. “Thomas, I wanted to talk to you about Hamilton.”

Trying not to show any hint of what he was thinking, Thomas withheld the desire to furrow his brows or tighten his grip on the arm rest. “All right. What about Hamilton?”

Washington inspected him closely with piercing eyes before sinking back into his chair with a great sigh, realising he wasn't going to find any visual cues with how guarded Thomas was being. “Thomas, I cannot help but notice the slight animosity between you and Mr. Hamilton. I've heard some of it myself and some of yours and his antics has been reported to me as well.”

Betraying him, the corner of Thomas's lips quirked up the tiniest bit. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

But Thomas did know what he meant. Him and Hamilton were practically ready to strangle each other after the meeting. They had a very messed up, unprofessional relationship. Yet, God did Thomas love it. It was safe to say that Hamilton was the most interesting thing in his life at that moment. It was something fresh...something new and exciting.

Something he hadn't had since her.

Washington shot him a look that told him to cut the bullshit. “I may be aging, but I am not becoming naive in the least. There's something going on between you two. I just cannot put my finger on it yet. Now, Thomas, it is no secret you absolutely loathe assistants. However, when I announced that Hamilton was beginning work here you jumped at the chance to have him as your assistant. Why is that?”

Thomas stiffened, his body betraying him. What could he say? The truth? Ha, no. Even he wasn't completely sure yet what the truth was. He had a stabbing prick of a clue, but he wasn't going to admit to it. He gave a half hearted scowl to Washington, a man he respected to the end of the earth, but he wouldn't sacrifice his own pride to anyone. He wasn't just going to hand over one of his greatest shames to someone on a silver platter.

Quickly, Thomas flipped the subject around to meet his own advantage. “Why did you hire Hamilton?”

This time Washington visibly stiffened as well, his hand coiling into a fist around his arm rest with whitened knuckles. “I found him to be an exceptional young man.”

Thomas could see the crack in Washington's armor now. All he had to do was twist a verbal knife into it.

Thomas suppressed a smirk tugging at his lips, sitting up straighter he replied, “An exceptional young man? I'll agree he has wits to him, but he is a kid. Not just a kid, but a kid with no experience or a degree. He has no credentials. When have you ever hired someone so unqualified?”

Washington clasped his teeth together, the warmth of his personality turning to cold, unyielding stone. Not answering Thomas's question, he turned the situation back into his favor while trying to maintain some shred of civility. “Thomas, I'm just wondering if you wanted Hamilton as your assistant because of something else that is not in a professional nature.” Suddenly, Washington's eyes and mouth grew soft as he spoke. “...Does he remind you of her? They do bear a striking resemblance to each other.”

In that moment, Thomas’s breath left him. The question he had been asking himself, but refusing to answer was now being asked of him by someone else. Someone he actually had to dignify with a response. With a guarded scowl, Thomas ground out, “I wonder if you hired him because you knew he worked for Lafayette.”

Washington's gaped with wide eyes. He then snapped his mouth shut at once. The raw hurt that lingered in the man's eyes was evident. “Mr. Jefferson-”

Thomas's calm and collected demeanor was quickly crumbling as the hurt within himself was too flowing to the surface. He was losing his head. As soon as Washington mentioned her...all reason left him immediately. Talking about her was the touchiest subject in his life. One that his dear friends knew to never tread on. “I think you may have forgotten I was at university with Lafayette. I know what you were to him and I saw you with Hamilton walking to his cafe yesterday-”

“Jefferson, I advise you stop talking right now.”

But he didn't. Against all of his smarts and respect for the man, he kept talking.

“And then imagine my surprise when I see little Hamilton leaving the cafe alone. You stayed behind to rekindle with Lafayette didn't you-”

Washington stood up, slamming his hands down onto the great, mahogany desk. 

The knife had been greatly twisted. More so than he had intended.

“Mr. Jefferson leave my office at once.”

Thomas quickly stood up. He knew he had crossed the line. The line was a mere speck in the distance now. He turned on his polished heel and began to stalk out the door.

As he grasped the door handle, Washington spoke up once more. “I never want to hear of your theories again, Mr. Jefferson.”

Thomas dug his nails into the handle before wrenching the door open and taking his leave.

His blood wasn't at boiling point. It was practically acid in his veins now. Thomas clenched his teeth and held his head high as he made his way back to his office. He had to seem dignified here, but the anger inside of him was bubbling and all because of that stupid little rat, Hamilton.

Because of him he had hurt Washington with his own hurt. Washington was like family to him. How could he?

Oh but he couldn't wait until he got his hands on Hamilton tomorrow. He knew he was misplacing his rage, but in a way this was the kid’s fault. If only Hamilton had shut his big mouth in the first place. 

XxxXxxxXxxx 

(Present)

His limbs felt loose and lax against the mattress. He felt like a perfect picture of serenity lying there. A warmth molded around his back and waist, holding him close, and the front of him was being warmed by the soft glimmers of sunlight peeking through the blinds. Alexander couldn't remember the last time he felt this comfortable...this content. Probably the last time his mother held him back in St. Croix before they fell ill. Back when things were all right, or at least as all right as they could be.

However, those treasured moments with his mother didn't hold the same dread that he felt welling up in his chest now. He sighed, staring at the window. Not really through it to see New York City waking up with him under the unusually bright, winter sun. 

Alexander swallowed down the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. Eventually he would have to get up. Eventually John would wake up as well and he would have to face him. 

The immigrant couldn't believe he had done that. Was it a one time thing? Did it mean something more to John? At least they didn't fuck, right?

He inwardly groaned. So the bar was at ‘they didn't fuck so it's ok’. If only. Alexander would have loved to blame it on the alcohol that mixed with the blood in his veins, but he knew he wasn't that intoxicated when he tempted John further. But of course, he was drunk enough that the important details of all that they did eluded him.

If only he could melt into this plush mattress. Disappear. God, he wished he could disappear.

Alexander looked over his shoulder at John who was wrapped tightly around him. The immigrant couldn't help but notice how many freckles John really did have. They were beautiful and so was John.

But he didn't think he felt that way about John. The way that Alexander had a nagging suspicion that John felt about him.

Carefully, Alexander took John's arm by the man's middle finger and lifted it up slowly from around his waist. The immigrant gnawed on his tongue between his teeth as he slowly shifted out from under John's grasp, praying he wouldn't rouse the other.

Alexander rolled to the edge of the bed and looked back over his shoulder at the still fast asleep John. Holding in his sigh of relief, the short man swung his feet round to the floor and hesitantly stood up only with his forest green boxers hanging around his hips. For a moment, he stayed perfectly still. The only sound meeting his ears were the racing cars outside below the apartment building. Slowly stepping forward, Alexander made for the door. His palms were practically dripping with sweat by this point.

How could he do this to John? Leaving him like some douchebag jock the morning after prom night. They were friends. Alexander had never really had a true friend like John before so he wasn't completely sure what the code of ethics entailed. But he did know leaving John like this made him feel horrible to his core.

Alexander clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. What was he thinking. What would hurt John less and what would hurt him more in the long run? He didn't know.

In the end, guilt got the better of him. Alexander turned back around on his heel and carefully tread over to John's side of the bed. He looked at the lean back of the sleeping man, idly admiring the curve of the man's spine and the indents of his muscles. Truly, Alexander was lucky to have such a handsome person admiring him. The immigrant was aware he wasn't the most attractive person in the world. In fact, he thought himself downright scrawny and looking like death warmed over with his dark eyebags. 

But he didn't feel lucky.

With an outstretched, slightly trembling hand, Alexander gently shook John's shoulder. “John,” he whispered.

The man stirred and turned over, bleary eyes attempting to focus on Alexander standing over him. At the realisation of who he was, John beamed up at him as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Mornin’, Alex.”

Alexander found himself smiling as well despite himself. “Morning. I just wanted to tell you I'm heading off to work.”

John quickly slipped out from underneath the covers and got up, matching Alexander's state of dress and holy shit John looked just as great as the immigrant had remembered. “Oh, you have to go already?” John brought his hand up to cradle the side of Alexander's face. Already he felt himself melting into the touch. “Can't you stay for breakfast? I make some mean, Southern pancakes.”

Alexander blinked. When was the last time he had anything home cooked? “I don't know, John. I wanted to go check on Laf-” he noticed John's smile falling. He immediately back pedaled, “You know what, breakfast sounds great.”

John's grin stretched back to its normal brilliance. Before Alexander knew what was happening, John was pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and holding his face with both of his hands.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

It had meant more to John.

As Alexander's mind raced with crippling, anxiety inducing thoughts, John pulled away and stalked to the kitchen while singing a tune to himself that he didn't recognize. 

As soon as he was out of sight, Alexander sunk back down onto the bed and held his head in his hands. What was he doing?

He dug his fingertips into his scalp. He wished he could ask Lafayette what he should do, but Lafayette was obviously dealing with his own issues. And now John, his best friend or whatever they were now, was in the kitchen making his speciality, southern pancakes.

Alexander's eyebrows knitted together. Southern made him think of Jefferson and that was the last thing he needed right now. He let out a deep, anguished groan.

He stood and began to pick his clothes up and made his way to the living room of the apartment. “John, I'm going to go take a shower real quick.”

“Roger,” John called in a singsong voice from the kitchen.

Alexander sighed. He was the smartest person he knew. Yet, he was also the dumbest person he knew. 

XxxXxxxXxxx

After an hour or so had passed, Alexander was out on the street looking the cleanest he had all week and a stomach full of the best pancakes he had ever had. John lent him some of his old clothes that he used to wear to med school before he dropped out to attend art school. Alexander felt much more professional wearing the silk, navy blue button up with black slacks that were both obviously of high quality with his usual, scuffed up dress shoes. The clothes were a bit big on him, but they looked better than the ratty garments he had been wearing to work for the past three days.

Alexander gripped his messenger bag tightly as he walked to Lafayette’s cafe. When he had left John's apartment, his friend had said goodbye to him by kissing him once more. It made Alexander's heart swell.

Swell with a warm feeling and a feeling of uncanny, guilty hollowness.

How could he fix this?

He shook his head. He would think about his problems later (the list seemed to just be growing anyways). For now, he had to check on Lafayette and the Frenchman’s issues. Alexander sighed as he pushed open the cafe doors. It was just before opening time so he hoped he hadn't caught him at a bad time.

“We're not open yet,” Lafayette called from the back of the cafe. The man's voice sounded tired and completely drained.

With a deep frown met with drawn brows of determination, Alexander stalked over to the counter and placed himself there with his arms crossed over his chest in complete defiance. After a minute passed, he realised that Lafayette had no intention of coming out to the front of the cafe. The Frenchman must have thought that the ‘customer’ had left after his assertion.

Alexander sighed and glanced around the counter for the small, silver bell. Once he spotted it, he lifted his finger without a second thought and began jamming the nub. The bell let out shrill, rings into the air that gave Alexander an odd source of satisfaction in a way. An annoyed smile graced his face at the thought that this must have been how Jefferson felt when he rang the bell to annoy him. 

Again, Jefferson was entering his thoughts at the most inconvenient of moments.

Soon enough, the doors to the back flew open, revealing a fuming Lafayette. “Mon Dieu! I said we are closed-” he paused as he saw Alexander standing there. With a sharp inhale he squared back his shoulders and raised his chin. “Alexander, what are you doing here?” He asked, eyes practically slits.

Slightly taken aback by the hostility, Alexander too stood to attention with his chin upturned. “I came to see how you were,” he spoke with unfamiliar formality. For a moment they stared at each other, then Alexander broke and his posture went slack. “Look, Laf- I don't know what happened yesterday, but-”

“Do not lie to me, Alexander,” he spat.

Alexander gaped. “Laf, I'm telling you the truth. I didn't know you knew my boss and how should I have known that you weren't on good terms?”

For a moment, Lafayette seemed to consider this, dropping his guard just the tiniest bit. The Frenchman turned around and began stacking the mugs next to one of the many coffee machines. “Then tell me how he just happened to be with you?”

Alexander leaned back against the counter with his head in his hand and an exasperated sigh that was more of a groan. “I told you, I was here because of that hick. Washington saw me on the way here and asked to tag along. I just thought he wanted some coffee.”

Lafayette paused his stacking and turned back around. He stood over Alexander with his glare pinning the shorter man in place. “Do you swear it?”

The corner of Alexander's mouth quirked down the slightest bit. “Yes.”

With a sigh of his own, Lafayette grabbed a damp dish towel and began wiping the counters. “I believe you then, Alexander. I just ask you never bring him back here again.”

Alexander gave a stiff nod. “Of course.”

He had a feeling that was the end of the conversation and he would never find out why the mere presence of Washington had upset Lafayette to such the extent that it had.

Lafayette hummed in satisfaction. Suddenly, he dropped the rag and turned back to Alexander with a coy smile, all gravity in his demeanor completely swept away. “Now, I must ask you where those came from.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Where what came from?”

Lafayette pointed to his own neck with a smirk while looking at Alexander's neck. Feeling subconscious, Alexander raised a hand to his neck and prodded it, but he didn't feel anything there. “What?”

Rolling his eyes, Lafayette began filling the pastry case. It was obvious Alexander wasn't getting his drift and he seemed to have deemed taking a more confrontational approach. “Busy night I assume?”

Upon realisation, Alexander let out a loud, drawn out groan. He immediately began raising his shirt collar and tightening his tie. “Are they really that visible?”

Lafayette shook his head, “Non.” He shot him a wink. “Only to the keen eye, Alexander.”

“Let's hope no one else has any keen eyes,” Alexander turned around and stomped out the door. 

XxxXxxxXxxx 

After greeting Angelica, Alexander stepped into the elevator and began to tap random beats on his thigh with his pointer finger as the metal contraption ticked up the many floors. It eventually dawned on him as it neared his designated floor, that when he had left yesterday Jefferson had been ticked off at him. He wondered if those feelings had marinated overnight or dissipated. 

He got his answer soon enough.

The immigrant stepped out of the elevator and walked to his cubicle like a soldier marching to his post. He was pulled out of his thoughts when he saw from the corner of his eye, a hand shooting out from one of the cubicles. Said hand grabbed him by the collar and harshly dragged him into the cubicle with it. Alexander gasped and struggled by flailing and throwing futile punches. 

“Shut up!” Peggy hissed and threw a hand over Alexander's mouth.

At seeing it was Peggy, he relaxed the slightest bit with his shoulders slouching and his protests coming to a halt.

Once she was sure he was done throwing a fit, Peggy withdrew her hand. Alexander straightened his shirt that was so crudely wrinkled by her grasp. “What's going on-”

Peggy forced her pointer finger to his lips. “Shhh!” She whispered, “I'm trying to help you.”

Finally, Alexander quieted himself and whispered back, “What is it?”

Peggy swallowed and looked over her shoulder, eyes darting around at any little noise. She then turned back around and leaned in to Alexander. He leant in to and she spoke low in his ear, “Thomas is looking for you.”

Alexander pulled back the slightest bit with eyebrows drawn incredulously. “And?”

Peggy shook her head. “You don't understand! He came in extra early today and was shouting about how ‘as soon as that brat gets here send him to my office’. I've seen Tom pissed off at assistants before, but not like this. Eliza told me and Angie all about how you showed him up at the meeting yesterday. Did you really do that?” Peggy grinned from ear to ear with wide, excited eyes.

Alexander found himself smirking in content. Had he really gotten under Jefferson's skin that much? If so then this was brilliant. “Brat? That's a new one. Yeah, I did. Didn't know he'd take it so bad.”

Peggy smacked his shoulder. “Stop looking so pleased!” Despite her scolding words, she was chuckling. “You've got guts Alex, I can say that for sure. If you want to keep those guts in your body, though, I'd suggest you steer clear of any purple loafers lurking around.”

Alexander snorted. “Is he really that pissed off just because I damaged his ego?”

Peggy nodded. “Just trust me on this one. If he sees you make a run for Angie.”

“Why?”

“He's afraid of her.”

Angelica seemed like a fierce woman all right, but she didn't seem the kind to be that afraid of. Only if she were pissed off too, of course. “He's afraid of her?”

“One time she slapped him so hard he stayed away from her for two weeks. They never talked about it again,” she said with a shrug.

Alexander suppressed a laugh. Angelica was now on the top of his favorite people list. With a pleased smile, he inquired, “Why did she slap him?”

Peggy shook her head. “Beats me. She wouldn't tell us, but me and Eliza reckon it's because he hit on her.”

The immigrant snorted at the thought of it all. Then he slowly stood up. “All right, I'll be careful. Thank you for the warning.”

Peggy shot him a wide smile, “No problem, ‘Lex.”

With that Alexander quietly edged his way out of the cubicle, clutching his bag tightly to his form. Looking over his shoulder and back, he deemed it safe enough to make his way to his cubicle. He thought about what he would do once he got there. Surely Jefferson would find him sitting in there at some point? Maybe he could quickly go in and grab his needed papers and then just work somewhere else for the day. 

It sounded like a good plan. Until he passed Jefferson's office on tippitoes, but even that didn't save him in the end. 

Just as he was scuttling his way away from the door frame, the door swung open. Jefferson, who was about to walk out into the hall, halted as soon as his eyes landed on Alexander. The short man froze. He slowly turned and immediately noticed the raw rage swimming in Jefferson's eyes. 

His dark, calculating eyes.

How come that look felt so familiar? It felt like deja vu.

Odd.

He felt like a deer stuck in headlights. No, headlights was putting it lightly. He felt like he was just spotted by a tyrannosaurus. Mustering all the courage he had, Alexander made the bold move of taking a single step forward towards the safety of his cubicle.

Jefferson's eyes turned into slits as he looked like he was about to spit fire. Alexander inwardly mused that maybe he was a dragon then. If not a dragon, then still a dinosaur. With all of that purple he wore, Jefferson would probably be Barney the purple dinosaur.

“Get your ass in here,” Jefferson seethed, stepping back into his office and holding the door open for Alexander.

The immigrant looked at him and then glanced back at the empty hallway behind him. He could totally make a run for Angelica if he tried. But Jefferson had a lot longer of legs than he did.

More importantly, Alexander Hamilton was not afraid of anyone. Especially not a magenta clad, purple loafer wearing asshole named Thomas Jefferson.

Holding his head high, Alexander turned around and strode right into the man's office. He felt Jefferson's eyes piercing his back as he stood in front of the desk. Behind him, Jefferson closed the door promptly and stood back against it with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Alexander turned around and met his stifling gaze with a mischievous smile that only seemed to just add to Jefferson's hatred.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Jefferson scowled as he spat the words out.

Alexander titled his head to the side and hummed, eyes glancing down at Jefferson's loafers. After a moment he answered, “I think your shoes look like crocs.”

In an instant Jefferson stomped across the room in three long strides and was standing right in front of him, hovering over him. He was so close Alexander could practically feel their bodies pressed together and the warmth of the Southerner enveloping him. Just to get away he stepped backwards, but found that he had nowhere to go. The back of his thighs had met the edge of the desk. “I think you may want to rethink your answer, Pipsqueak.”

“All right. You still owe me three-fifty for that coffee,” he replied smugly.

Jefferson's hand shot up and grabbed the knot of his tie, pulling him forward the slightest bit. Alexander emitted a choking noise and caught himself by throwing out his hands to grab the two chairs beside them. The Southerner leant down to the point their noses were almost touching. Feeling his breaths ghost across his face, Jefferson spoke once more through ground teeth. “Try again.”

The immigrant stared up at him with wide eyes before immediately trying to pull back with a sneer. “Try a fucking tic tac.” Alexander's hands came up and tried to pry Jefferson's fingers from his tie. The Southerner’s steel-like glare slowly morphed into a glint of amusement as his lips that were pulled into a thin line split into a mirthful smirk at Alexander's flailing. Jefferson only held on tighter.

Alexander eventually gave up after realising it was no use. The man's grip was like a bear trap. “Let go,” he huffed.

Jefferson chuckled and pulled him the tiniest bit closer, making the immigrant's head crane back. “I don't think I will.”

Alexander scowled. “Let go or I'll bite your hand.”

Maintaining their eye contact, Jefferson opened his hand and released Alexander's tie. The immigrant had been pulling so hard to wrench himself free that when the Southerner let go he went falling backwards into the desk behind him. He stumbled into it, the desk’s wooden edge jabbing into his lower back.

Jefferson snorted at the other’s misfortune as Alexander pushed himself up on shaky arms with a groan. “You're such a dick,” he grumbled to himself as he made short work of loosening his tie that really had begun to choke him.

Holding a pleased smile, Jefferson dropped down into his desk chair and folded his hands behind his head and his leg over the other leg. “I am, I am, but it's all right. I'm sure you enjoy that sort of thing”

Alexander froze within a millisecond, hands still around his tie. He could already feel the heat rising in his face and his ears becoming tinged with pink on the tips. “What the hell do you mean?”

Jefferson looked at him smugly. “Exactly as I said, Pipsqueak.”

“You're implying I like men?” Alexander stared at him with owl-like eyes.

“You're slow for someone in the fast lane, but yes,” Jefferson nodded.

Alexander's jaw tensed. “Oh, really? And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

Jefferson stood up with a beaming grin. The rage seemed to be swept away with the man's delight at his new found information about Alexander. By the way Jefferson was grinning, one would think he had struck gold. “I was hoping you would ask. This is always the fun part.” The man stalked over to the door. “I know you enjoy male company based on those little marks on your neck.”

Alexander's hand shot up to quickly cover any of the marks that may be showing. He wanted to die. “They could be from a woman.”

Jefferson snorted with a roll of his eyes. “Either your girl has giant hands or it's a man. Those fingerprints are way too big to be a females. Your defensiveness just tells me I'm correct.”

Alexander stared, not knowing what to say. His heart felt lodged in his throat. Sure he had come out of the closet a long time ago, but he still felt that sudden rush of dread every time someone new found out. He could never anticipate how the person would react. What if Jefferson tried to use it against him?

“Now, come along, Darlin'. We have a lot to attend to today.” With that Jefferson left the office, expecting Alexander to follow him.

“This job isn't worth it,” Alexander mumbled under his breath as he followed like the puppy Jefferson thought he was. 

There had been another pair of keen eyes.

 

XxxXxxxXxxx 

A/N: Still sorry this chapter wasn't that great. I didn't like how I portrayed the characters and it felt rushed (probably because I was rushing to get this updated). Next one will definitely make up for it I promise. Also I'd like to announce that I have a new fic I want to do that is Jamilton and it's a crime fic. I got the plot all figured out, but I'm not sure when to start writing it. Would anyone be interested in that sort of story?

Comment/kudo/bookmark please! Constructive criticism is welcome (God knows this chapter needs it).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No summary ●H●

A/N: What's this? What's this? An update’s in the air. What's this? There's stress everywhere. Just kidding. Hi guys, long time no see. Like a month long. I am truly sorry about going MIA with updating, but I do have a reason. First week I didn't update was because I was grounded and my phone was taken (I have no other way of writing) and the next couple of weeks have been because of school as usual. I finished up a research paper that was worth 350 fucking points and a requirement to graduate. This week I had my AP finals and the next couple of weeks I have my other finals, AP exams, and then my SAT. ●H● Can you tell I'm like actually dying? 

I am just so sorry and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I don't think it's the best I could have done, but it's the best I could do with such limited time that I had. At least this one is much longer than the last!

XxxxXxxxXxxx 

Glaring at the back of Jefferson's head, Alexander briskly followed after him down the hall. As they walked, Alexander spotted Peggy peeking over the cubicles with wide, wondering eyes. The immigrant figured she was most likely concerned for him and wondering why Jefferson wasn't murdering him right then and there. Just behind her, he could see Eliza from her own cubicle looking to Peggy and then to him. She gave him a small wave accompanied by a kind smile.

Trying not to seem like the desperate man that he was, Alexander gave a tiny wave back. When he glanced back at Peggy, the youngest sister was bearing a smirk and making a heart shape with her fingers. She was holding it up so only he could see.

He brushed it off with a playful glare shot her way and turned his attention back to the head of bouncing curls in front of him. Alexander did have to hand it to Jefferson, the man had very immaculate looking hair. It wasn't strikingly beautiful like Eliza’s, but it was still nice, he supposed. As were his eyes...and possibly the man's jawline too. Even his facial hair was clean shaven and his clothes seemed to always be selected with such precise care compared to the way Alexander threw on whatever smelt the cleanest. Usually he didn't even care if what he tugged on matched or not. Overall, Jefferson was quite handsome, in a way, he supposed.

Too bad Jefferson's personality was complete shit and his voice that would sound like warm honey to anyone else sounded absolutely nauseating to the immigrant. 

Alexander glanced past Jefferson's shoulder that bore his sleek, lilac suit to see Madison trudging down the hall lit by bright, overhanging lights. The man's face was buried into a tissue to catch his endless snifflings. Alexander couldn't decide whether Madison had a really bad cold or if he just a sickly man.

He was torn out of his thoughts when the unusually silent Jefferson suddenly spoke up and embraced the small man in front of them into a one armed hug that was an odd mixture of formal and friendly. “James, how are you this morning?”

James wiped the snot from his nose and sniffed the rest back up into his head. Alexander scrunched his own nose up. “Ugh, I could be better, Thomas.”

Jefferson frowned and leaned in close to the man's ear. Both of them turned their backs to Alexander who was too busy scowling at them to care. The two men acted as if he didn't even exist. He wished he could knock their heads together. James wasn't so intolerable like Jefferson, but he didn't seem to wish to engage in any pleasantries by greeting Alexander.

“Have you been taking your new medicine?” He heard Jefferson mumble to the other under his breath.

Madison whispered something back, but Alexander didn't catch it. He did, however, catch the soft frown plastered onto Jefferson's face. It wasn't one of disgust that he so often looked at Alexander with. It was a sort of frown that showed intense care. A care the immigrant wasn't aware such a self centered person like Jefferson was capable of.

Just as quickly as the tenderness appeared, it was washed away. Jefferson glanced over his shoulder and saw Alexander staring at the them. Straightening to attention, Alexander clenched his fists at his sides. He was already on guard.

And for good reason. 

The soft lines of Jefferson's mouth slipped into a thin, rigid line. His eyes narrowing just as much to make an image of hostility. As if Alexander was somehow intruding and had been caught in the act. “Enjoying the view, Hamilton?”

Alexander clamped his teeth together so hard he thought the bones would crack in on themselves. He knew Jefferson would use it against him. He just knew it. How low could he possibly get? 

Inwardly seething, Alexander debated throwing back an insult about Virginia, but he withheld. He knew that was a sore spot for Jefferson. He would utilize it when truly needed or it would lose its value.

Alexander opted to retort, “Just something on the bottom of my shoe is all.”

Jefferson's mouth dropped back into a frown.

Just as he opened his mouth with curling lips to retaliate, a door next to Jefferson and James swung open. A stout man with a balding head stepped out from the office. A large plethora of wrinkles were like ripples on his skin. Perhaps the biggest thing to stand out about the man's features, however, were the smallest glasses that Alexander had ever seen. They were old fashioned, made of wire, and circular. Looking closely, Alexander realised this was the old man he had seen at the meeting that sat amongst the likes of Burr and Washington the other day. He wasn't very memorable considering the man hadn't said a word the entire meeting.

The eyes behind the spectacles brightened when the old man looked to Jefferson. “Ah, Mr. Jefferson! I'm so glad you came as requested. Did you bring young Mr. Hamilton with you?” 

Jefferson didn't dignify him with a verbal response, probably too worried that the words he was about to spat at Alexander would misfire. Instead, he flicked his eyes to Alexander who was still standing stiffer than a board.

The old man's kind eyes followed Jefferson's to meet the immigrant’s. A wide smile stretched across the old man's pale face as he stuck out a hand for Alexander to shake. “Ah, Mr. Hamilton! It is so very nice to meet your acquaintance at last. I'm Mr. Franklin, senior staff advisor here at this company. Feel free to call me Ben if you like.”

Alexander slipped his hand into the pudgy one of Franklin’s. He found himself sparing a smile as well, despite himself. Franklin seemed rather kind and must have deemed Alexander as an equal to allow him to refer to him by something other than his surname. However, Alexander thought it would be disrespectful to call him anything other than his surname. “It's nice to meet you as well, Mr. Franklin.” 

Faltering slightly at the use of his last name, Franklin quickly regained his grin and beckoned Jefferson and Alexander inside to his office. “Well, come in, come in! I was hoping Washington had told you to come and as usual he did not let me down.”

Alexander strode in after him and was followed by Jefferson who closed the door behind them after nodding a goodbye to Madison; leaving him behind in the hallway to blow a wad of snot into another tissue.

The breath was knocked out of Alexander's lungs as he entered the room before him. Franklin's office wasn't like Washington's or Jefferson's at all. It wasn't sleek or modern, or even clean for that matter. Against the large open window of the building, Franklin's tattered desk sat against it looking out towards the window, rather than away from it like Washington's. As if the old man were afraid to miss anything happening below in the outside world. The most peculiar thing, though, was the mass amount of books that lined each and every wall of the office. They weren't housed in bookshelves, they were just stacked in large, unorganized heaps. 

Alexander swallowed the urge to immediately dart for them and run his hands over the old bindings and withering pages. He forced his eyes back to Franklin who retreated over to his seat to sit down with a great huff as if sitting were such an effort. Alexander wasn't sure how this man wasn't retired yet.

“Now that we have gotten passed introductions, it is time to talk about business,” Franklin spoke, straightening his glasses on his face even though there was a permanent crook in the side of them. Jefferson nodded and stood with his hands slipped into his pockets, paying close attention. Alexander paid intense attention to Franklin too.

Well, sort of. Alexander found his eyes straying back to the books. This man had a library in his office for God's sake. From where he stood he could see some of the works of Henry David Thoreau. The little bookworm in him whined.

Sensing Alexander's eyes wondering, Jefferson gave him a ‘helpful’ nudge to the ribs with his bony elbow. Holding in a yelp, Alexander grasped his side and shot Jefferson a heated scowl. The southerner didn't meet his gaze, but he was smirking wide enough to let Alexander know he could feel the stare. Franklin showed no sign of noticing the silent war being fought between them.

Continuing, Franklin said, “Steuben has informed Washington that he is currently in the city instead of his estate up north. However, he is planning to leave back up north quite soon. For that reason, Washington and I both need this to be handled in a timely manner.”

Jefferson raised his eyebrow. “What needs to be handled?”

“As Mr. Hamilton suggested, if Mr. King's charms to Steuben are affecting our business so profoundly then maybe we should be playing for his hand as well.”

Alexander's eyes widened. If Franklin was saying what he thought he was, then that meant they had put their trust in him. They entrusted him with a worthwhile task. Something other than getting coffee like Jefferson kept subjecting him to. Just as anticipation started to bubble within him and a smile splayed onto his lips, he got the small suspicion that Franklin was getting to something that Alexander wouldn't like one bit.

Having to enact his plan alongside Jefferson. It would just be his fucking luck.

“And?” Jefferson asked with his eyes quickly narrowing, probably guessing the same as Alexander. He didn't like the idea of working together either.

Franklin's grin seemed to shift into that of a mischievous one. “And Washington and I both agree you two are the best to get the job done; seeing as it was Mr. Hamilton's idea and he is your assistant, after all.”

Shit.

“But, sir, I'm an editor. Not a marketer!” Jefferson blanched. Alexander could see the southerner’s fingers twitching into coiled fists at his sides and the muscle in the side of his face flexing, signifying that he was clenching his jaw rather tightly.

“Right you are, Mr. Jefferson. But as I said, this was Mr. Hamilton's idea and he should be given the opportunity to prove himself capable of carrying it out. You are responsible for him, so you will aid him. Am I understood?” Franklin spoke evenly with no edge to his words, despite Jefferson's outburst.

After a beat of staring Franklin down his nose, Jefferson pulled back his shoulders and regained his behaved composure. “Of course, sir.”

Franklin watched carefully. He then nodded and turned around to his desk and began rifling through the many papers on top of it. As he was doing this, Jefferson's eyes flicked to their corners. The dark eyes burned into his own, giving Alexander a nasty stare down. The shorter man felt stuck to his spot. Seemingly to Jefferson's surprise, Alexander dared to glare straight back.

Alexander had escaped Jefferson's rage one too many times and he had a feeling this was the last. Keeping his breath even, Alexander calmed himself. Jefferson had been winding him up for the past couple of days and by this point he was honestly ready to kick the idiot's ass even though he knew he would definitely lose that fight and his job would be damned.

He could just go home and write a strongly worded letter addressed to Jefferson instead. 

And never give it to him.

Yeah, Alexander liked that plan better than getting sacked and the coffee knocked out of him. 

Franklin shuffled back around on his heel to face them, a small slip of paper was being held between his forefinger and thumb. He outstretched his arm towards Alexander to take it.

Tearing his eyes away from Jefferson's glower, he took the paper and held it up to read its contents. It was a simple scrawl of an address in the sort of neat, cursive writing he hadn't seen anyone use in a long time.

For a moment, Jefferson forgot his hostility and leaned over Alexander's shoulder to spy what was on the piece of paper as well. He could feel the waves of heat from Jefferson's body against his own. Taking a much needed step forward, he looked behind himself and saw that Jefferson looked more understanding than him about what was written.

The blue eyes behind his spectacles twinkled at Alexander as he explained. “Mr. Steuben is a very personal man. He likes to get to know his investments and I believe that is how Mr. King has won his favor so greatly. Steuben said he would love to meet the future of the company he is investing in. Go meet with him and get to know him; share some projects you have been working on I'm sure he would love to hear about them.”

Alexander twitched.

Projects. What projects? If only getting elitists assholes coffee could be considered a project.

Besides, that didn't sound like the ideal situation to the immigrant at all. Sure, Alexander could charm, but he wasn't exactly the most agreeable person. God forbid if this Steuben was heavily conservative or something; he wouldn't last an hour in the same room as him. All in all, Alexander would rather be working on the financial plan that he was asked to set up for the company. Paper and words had always been his greatest allies. The words that came out of his mouth, however, only seemed to bring him momentary satisfaction and long term turmoil.

“All right, I can do that.” Alexander pocketed the piece of paper with a determined nod, masking his discontent.

The old man nodded. “He's expecting you there by ten, so you still have some time. See Mr. Burr when you return, Washington has placed him in charge of overseeing the progress. He would have asked you, Mr. Jefferson, to do it yourself, but he wanted to eliminate any faulty reports that may come with bias.”

They both gave a short nod and turned their backs to Franklin.

“Oh, and, Mr. Hamilton, another thing before you leave,” Franklin spoke up once more.

Alexander glanced back over his shoulder, waiting.

Franklin grinned, “You may borrow my books any time that you like.” 

The immigrant could feel his ears burn. He had been caught gawking. “Oh- uh, thank you.” 

They turned back and left. As soon as the door was securely shut behind them, closing them out from the heavenly, library-esque office, Jefferson let out a loud, exaggerated groan while Alexander tried to calm his embarrassment. “I can't believe this. I have to be your full time nanny and confer with Burr? Burr, of all people.” The man tugged on his head of curls before smoothing them back out as if disrupting them hurt his very soul. “I hope you know this is your fault, Hamilton.”

Alexander who was half thinking about which book to borrow first, paused to glare. He couldn't believe this guy. He'd had enough of this southern hick’s tantrums. “Act like an adult for fuck’s sake, Jefferson.” 

Jefferson scoffed, “Says the one that could pass as a prepubescent teenager.”

He was really asking for it. Alexander dug his nails into his palms, resisting the urge to grab Jefferson by the collar and throw him into the stacks of cubicles behind them and make a beeline for the elevator. “Is that a short joke?”

With a snort, Jefferson replied, “Maybe. How even tall are you? I would say about five foot six at most.”

Alexander fumed next to him, Jefferson at that point let his deep laughs vibrate down the hall. He was taking way too much enjoyment out of Alexander's flustered misery. Crossing his arms over his chest, Alexander retorted, “Height is only a social construct.” 

He didn't want to admit that he was only five foot seven while he was sure that Jefferson was well over six foot. It was taller than Jefferson expected him to be, but not by very much.

“So you're short,” Jefferson chuckled.

“I am not.”

“Must have been all that coffee stunting your growth.”

“Shut the Hell up before I ask Washington to transfer me to someone else. Better yet, why don't you ask to transfer me since you hate being my ‘nanny’,” Alexander scathed. It was an empty threat, though. He doubted anyone else would be willing to put up with him.

Yet, the threat did have a response he didn't quite expect.

The clicking of their dress shoes against the linoleum tile resounded throughout the hall. It took Alexander a moment to realise that Jefferson had fallen silent. The immigrant glanced up at him only to see Jefferson looking straight ahead, seemingly in deep thought.

Then Jefferson’s calm, analytical demeanor dropped as he suddenly snorted, “I would, but I'd be losing my coffee boy and doing you a favor by passing you onto someone else. Imagine the horror of you owing me something.” 

Alexander gave a dry laugh. “Oh, so now you're looking out for me? How sweet of you to care.”

Jefferson snorted and met his eyes with his own playful smirk. “I don't care about hobbits, Darlin’,” he replied in a singsong voice that would have sounded doting if it wasn't laced in a web of sarcasm.

For some strange, unidentifiable reason, Alexander felt his heart catch in his chest. He couldn't place why his heart had skipped a beat, but it had. It was probably just from the resentment of that awful ass nickname. 

“We can't all be literal trees.”

Jefferson smirked, “I know. It's a pity not everyone can be as good looking as me either.”

In the inner depths of Alexander's mind and the seventh circle of Hell, he agreed.

The short man quickly averted his eyes back down to floor as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. Turning his attention back ahead, he saw them approaching the elevator. He didn't know where they were headed, but he guessed that Jefferson at least knew and they weren't just aimlessly walking.

He hoped, anyway.

Jefferson hummed to himself, the baritone vibrations rolling off of the metal walls as they stepped into the elevator. The southerner pushed the ground floor button before slipping his hands into his pockets. Idly, Alexander stood opposite of him and found himself closely inspecting the other's features once again. Jefferson appeared unbeknownst to this as he leant back against the wall with his head tilted back, looking to the dull light on the ceiling.

The elevator cascaded down the many floors as the two men sat enraptured in silence. Bouts of silence between them always felt extremely awkward, at least to Alexander they did. 

“You actually do owe me something,” Alexander piped up.

Jefferson flicked his eyes back down to Alexander, watching him from the top of his upturned nose. “Oh?” He asked with a pleasant lilt, but it felt more like an underlying challenge.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Alexander replied matter-of-factly, “You still owe me three-fifty for that coffee.”

Rolling his eyes, Jefferson craned his neck back down to meet Alexander with a sudden, sharp scowl. “I'm not sure why I have to pay for a coffee that was atrocious to begin with and that you may or may not have spat in.”

“Next time I will spit in it if you keep it up. And you didn't tell me what you wanted; all I got was a text like some errand boy,” Alexander shot back.

Jefferson rolled his eyes and fished out a shiny black wallet from his pocket. The man flipped it open and rifled through it with great distaste written across his face. Alexander couldn't see the wallet’s contents entirely, but one thing was for sure- there was a lot of cash and a lot of cards in it. There was probably enough cash in it to pay his rent for a month or two. The devil that is jealousy twisted up in his gut before he could help it.

“You are an errand boy,” Jefferson chuckled as he slipped out a crisp, brand new twenty dollar bill. He held it out in front of Alexander's face, gesturing him to take it. “This is the smallest bill I have right now. Just give me change for it.”

A pulse went by.

Reluctantly, Alexander reached out and took the bill. He eyed it like it would bite him. Even more hesitantly, he withdrew his own wallet from his back pocket. It wasn't at all like Jefferson's. In color his wallet was a murky brown and it was ripped at the edges. Pressing his lips together into a thin line, Alexander opened it and found he only had a single ten dollar bill inside that he thought to grab before leaving to work that morning. 

The brunette pinched it and withdrew it from the leather encasing, holding it out to Jefferson who he found staring down at the bareboned wallet, seeming to regard it with the utmost attention. “I don't have any more change right now. I'll pay back the rest later,” Alexander spoke evenly, trying to draw the southerner’s eyes back to him and not the disgrace that was his financial status.

Jefferson met Alexander's eyes and for a second they just stared at each other. Alexander's eyes dared him to make a comment about it. But the man just scoffed abruptly instead. “Keep it. Pay me back in full when you can.”

Alexander swallowed with a stiff nod and quickly slipped the bill back into his wallet and into his pocket. He felt that Jefferson had paid him a small mercy. If he had looked concerned and been sympathetic, Alexander would have felt his pride had been stomped on. Being the prideful fuck that he was, he would have started a fight right then and there inside the elevator like they had so many days ago. But Jefferson had sneered at him in a way that made the situation feel normal and like he wasn't being pitied in the least.

Alexander was thankful for the small, hidden kindness that was given to him.

XxxxXxxxXxxx 

Jefferson approached the edge of the sidewalk outside, so close to the street that many cars were barreling down and blaring their horns when anyone had the gall to stop in front of them. Fixedly, Alexander watched from behind with grim mirth. Did Jefferson really think hailing a cab would be so easy? Having his fair share of experience with cabbies, Alexander knew you practically had to risk your life by throwing yourself in front of them just to get them to stop. Nonchalantly, Jefferson surveyed the cars with a lazy tilt in his demeanor. When they saw a cab fast approaching, the southerner raised his hand from his side barely a foot.

As if that would work-

Imagine Alexander's surprise when he heard a screech of tires. The white cab that had been previously doing at least eighty miles an hour down the tight road, came to an abrupt halt right in front of Jefferson. Without a word, Jefferson walked to the back door of the cab and pulled it open. He glanced back over his shoulder, seeing Alexander standing there slack jawed. “Are you coming or catching flies?”

Clamping his mouth shut, Alexander strode forward. Giving Jefferson a quick glower, he stepped into the cab once he was sure Jefferson wouldn't slam the door on his leg. The other stepped in after him and slid next to him on the leather seats that were covered in suspicious stains. 

The short man continued to stare at Jefferson with amazement as he told the gruff looking cabbie the address. The address wasn't the one on the slip of paper, however. With a nod, the cabbie pulled the car back into gear and they lurched forward, speeding off with the rest of the cars on the road. Jefferson sat back into his unclean seat hesitantly, most likely concerned for his suit’s safety. Sensing, Alexander's continuous stare, he turned to him and snapped, “What?”

“How did you get the cab to stop like that? You barely even lifted your hand to get their attention,” Alexander explained, his genuine confusion was evident across his face.

Jefferson snorted. “Cabbies are money scroungers,” he replied in a low voice. “They stop for men in suits, not men in rags.” 

Alexander bit the side of his tongue to stop himself from lashing out. Honestly he had no chill as a person and Jefferson was not helping that fact. “Is that supposed to mean something, Jefferson?” He asked with an edge to his voice.

Jefferson turned his attention to the window with a scoff, “I didn't mean anything by it, Pipsqueak. Try not to look too closely into it, you might break that little brain of yours.”

Alexander stared hard at him, “Little brain? Is that why Washington likes my ideas more than yours?”

Jefferson gave his own glare in return before turning back to the window and signalling that was the end of their argument. It felt like they had been arguing all day. Probably because they had. It was both draining and oddly exhilarating. 

With a grin of triumph, Alexander finally asked, “Where are we going anyways? It's too early to be heading to Steuben’s already.”

“I was wondering when you would think to ask,” Jefferson sighed. It wasn't a dejected sigh. It was one of exhaustion. As if dealing with Alexander and all of his questions was just such a task.

The cab suddenly jolted to a halt. Having forgotten to buckle his seatbelt, Alexander had to throw out both of his hands to stop himself from going straight through the glass that divided them and the cabbie. Laughing as Alexander peeled himself off of the cab floor that was littered with crunched up beer cans, crumbs, and cigarette butts; Jefferson took out his wallet and paid the man. “Safety first, Hamilton.” Without even waiting for him, Jefferson left the cab. 

The immigrant groaned and brushed the grime off of himself, paying a well deserved glare to the cabbie through the rearview mirror. With odd footing, he stepped out of the cab and slammed the door behind him. As soon as the door was closed the cab sped off again.

Alexander looked ahead and saw Jefferson entering the business that the cabbie had taken them to. The building was ornate and attached to other stores and houses in a row like most of New York City. Above the door was a sign written in neat, loopy lettering. It read “Tailor’s Apprentice”. 

Furrowing his brows, Alexander followed through the door after Jefferson. The bell hanging over the door rang once again, signaling his entrance. “Why are we at a tailor’s shop?” Alexander asked, stalking over to Jefferson who was standing at the front desk.

“You need a different shirt to wear to Steuben’s,” Jefferson answered, still staring ahead. 

Alexander looked down at the navy dress shirt that John had lent him. He thought it was rather nice looking. “What's wrong with mine?” He asked with his lip upturned.

Jefferson gave him a blunt look, barely turning his head to him to do so. “You have hickies all over your neck and that shirt isn't covering them. You need something with a higher collar or Steuben is going to see it. Plus, that shirt is as bland as your insults and I happen to know Steuben takes great interest in the flashier things in life.”

Alexander grit his teeth together. Bland insults? “You two will get along great, then. Your suit already oozes ‘I'm compensating’.”

Alexander's gnarled grin of victory dropped as Jefferson gave him a wicked smirk. Ahead of them, they could hear the store clerk approaching from the backroom. “I can assure you, Hamilton, I don't have anything to compensate for.”

The shorter man nearly choked on his own spit. 

“Hello, what can I help you with today?” Hercules asked, approaching them from the backroom with his eyes glued down at the measuring tape that he was rolling back into his pocket.

Alexander blinked, being pulled out of the process of having a mini heart attack and restraining himself from looking down at his boss's crotch just to see if it were true. He knew Hercules was a tailor, he just didn't ever think to ask where he worked. “Herc?”

At hearing his name, Hercules finally looked up and saw Alexander standing there with Jefferson who was equally confused. “Alexander? What are you doing here?” He asked.

Answering for him, Jefferson replied, “He needs a shirt with a high collar. Something to hide his neck and that also looks agreeable.”

Hercules gave a slow nod and beckoned Alexander to follow him to one of the rooms to the side. After sparing one last, quizzical glance Jefferson's way, Alexander stalked after Hercules into the side room. “I didn't know you worked here- do you know Jefferson?”

Hercules fished the haphazardly rolled up measuring tape from his pocket. “I've been his tailor for a while. How do you know him?”

Alexander huffed, “He's my dickhead boss.”

Outstretching the measuring tape, Hercules wrapped it around Alexander's chest. “Arms up,” he muttered. Alexander did as he was told. “Yeah, I'd agree he's a bit of a dick. He has very, annoyingly particular tastes, but he pays me well and that's all I can ask,” he finished with a short laugh.

“Did you know him and Lafayette went to school together?” Alexander asked, continuing the small talk.

“Not until about a week ago. I think that was the day when you met him too? He's been a customer for a while, but I didn't know he knew Laf. It came up in conversation at home,” he explained. He then pulled back from Alexander with a sigh, looking disapproving at his own tape measure. “Alex, can you take your shirt off? I'm sorry, but I can't get an accurate measurement with the extra fabric getting in the way.”

“Yeah, sure.” Alexander began undoing each of the buttons. The shirt was a bit big on him, he could see how it was getting in the way. After all, it wasn't his. It was John’s. The very thought of John made him inwardly sigh. He kept putting off thinking about what to do about him and their little situation. For good reason.

Alexander shrugged off the navy blue button down and held it in his hand as he lifted up his arms. But the tape measure he was waiting for to wrap around his chest didn't come. He looked up and saw Hercules staring at his neck. More specifically at the marks on his neck that trailed down to his naval.

He felt the heat rise in his face immediately.

Hercules coughed and regained his composure. “Sorry- I was just wondering-”

“Wondering who did it?” Alexander supplied.

Hercules nodded as he wrapped the cold tape around his chest. “Er, yeah..”

Taking in a deep breath, Alexander exhaled, “Well, John and me sort of-”

Completely coming to a halt, Hercules looked up with a wide grin. “You and John? It's about time, man! Me and Laf made bets on when it would happen.”

Alexander found his eyebrows furrowing as Hercules took the measurement for his neck. “What do you mean?”

With a shrug, Hercules took to taking the measurement for his shirt length next. “I thought you were a couple when he came to go drinking with us.”

“Why?” 

Hercules laughed, as if the answer was completely obvious. When he realised that Alexander was genuinely clueless, Hercules replied with his grin faltering, “He was all over you that night. I just sort of assumed…and Laf told me he wasn't sure.”

Alexander frowned. How didn't he see it? They saw it coming, but he hadn't. Now it was his mess to deal with.

“Herc,...I...can I tell you something?” Alexander cast his eyes to the ground as Hercules finished taking the many measurements needed to conjure a shirt that would fit his form exactly.

Giving a small frown of concern, Hercules wrapped up the measuring tape and pocketed it. “Of course. What's wrong?”

Alexander sighed. “Well,...I don't really care about John the way I think that he cares about me.”

Hercules eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Fuck, man. That's not good at all.”

“Tell me about it.” Alexander returned the other’s frown, retrieving his cell phone from his front pocket. He flipped it open and showed the list of unread messages to Hercules. They were all from the same person.

John.

“I don't know what to do, Herc. I care about him- just not like that. I thought it was just a dumb hookup,” Alexander explained as Hercules scrolled through the many sappy messages from John asking Alexander when he could see him again.

Hercules massaged his temple with his calloused fingers. “That's a tough one, Alex. Just try to talk to him about it, ok? John's a good dude. Try not to hurt him,” Hercules advised, ending with a stern look.

Alexander nodded with a thin lipped smile, shoving the device back into his pocket. “I hope he won't take it too badly.”

“Honesty is the best policy, Alex. Leading him on will only ruin him and your friendship,” Hercules sighed and stepped away from him to the large rack of fabric swatches. “How come you need a shirt so soon anyways? I'm not complaining, just wondering.”

Alexander stepped towards him and the fabric rack. “My boss, Washington, wants Jefferson and me to go meet with this investor. Try to charm him.” He gave a wry smile, “I reckon that jerk out there is right about getting a shirt that hides my neck, but I'm not sure why we couldn't have just gone to a Target or something for a shirt.”

Hercules laughed, “Guess Jefferson just thinks everyone else likes the same sort of expensive stuff that he does. Plus getting a shirt from me is a guarantee that your neck will be hidden, imagine the scandal if you didn't hide it”.

With a snort, Alexander began tugging on the navy dress shirt once more; he suddenly felt very bare. They fell into a silence as Hercules thumbed through the many fabrics, searching for a specific one in mind.

The immigrant twiddled his thumbs as he watched the back of Hercules head. He wondered whether he should ask. Probably not…, but he was damn well curious.

“Herc?”

Without turning around, Hercules kept rummaging through the many fabric swatches. “Hm?”

Tentatively, Alexander asked, “Is..Laf all right?”

Hercules turned on his heel and met Alexander's eyes drowned in concern. “I think so. Why? What happened?” Hercules eyebrows scrunched together. “Alex, man, what's wrong?”

Alexander gave a small shrug. “I don't really know. I went to the cafe the other day with Washington and as soon as Laf saw him, he got really hostile. He wouldn't even speak to me until I went and apologized and pleaded with him that I didn't bring Washington there to upset him. I didn't know they knew each other at all.”

Hercules listened carefully to Alexander's explanation. When he finished, he was just as confused as the short man. “Lafayette's never mentioned any Washington to me...he seemed fine the last couple of days.”

“He didn't seem off at all?”

“Not that I know of.” Hercules frowned, staring at the floor. Alexander didn't know it, but he had put a little seed of doubt in Hercules and his standing in his relationship with Lafayette.

Shaking his head, Hercules grabbed a couple of swatches of different colored and textured fabrics and presented them to Alexander. “I picked a couple of greens and blues out for you. I think I remember those being your favorite based on what you usually wear. These fabrics are soft, but also stiff enough that the collar won't slip down.”

Alexander surveyed and felt each one. A fabric swatch of dark, emerald green caught his attention the greatest. The green fabric felt softer than a cloud under his fingers and the beautiful color matched his skin almost perfectly.

There were so many options. He didn't know which to pick.

“Uhm-”

“Pick that one,” Hercules said, making the decision up for him.

Alexander snorted. “All right. This one then,” he said, pointing to the dark green one that had enraptured him.

Hercules threw the brilliantly colored swatches back into the shelves in a heap. He turned around and stalked towards the door like a man on a mission. “Velvet, great choice, man. I'm going to go check stock and make the alterations. You can go wait in the front room.”

Alexander watched him go and headed back to the front room, buttoning up the navy shirt from the bottom to the top as he went. He entered the room as he thumbed the last four buttons at the top of the shirt closed. When he looked up from the shirt, he found Jefferson staring back at him.

He rose his eyebrow at Jefferson, but the southerner gave no verbal or physical answer. Instead, he just went back to casually reading the magazine draped lazily across his lap.

Shrugging it off, Alexander went and sat amongst the chairs lined against the wall. He purposely picked a chair that was three down from Jefferson's own. Enough to provide distance without being blatantly rude; even if Alexander wished he could put a city's worth of distance between them.

After sitting and twiddling his thumbs with the occasional glance at Jefferson only to be caught awkwardly staring, Hercules came back from the back of the shop with a freshly altered velvet, green shirt. Hercules paced over to Alexander and handed him the hanger.

Taking it in his hand, Hercules gestured him back to the measuring room. “Try it on and let me know if anything is too tight or too loose.”

Alexander nodded and stalked back to the room, closing the door behind him.

Back at the front of the shop, Jefferson stood from his seat and sat the magazine down carelessly. He approached the front desk and slipped out his wallet. “How much will it be, Mulligan?”

Hercules turned to him and crossed over to the register and opened his little leather book that kept pricing records for different fabrics. Hercules then rang up the numbers and turned to Jefferson, “Eighty-five today, Mr. Jefferson.”

The southerner nodded and slipped out one of his many bank cards and handed the piece of hard plastic over. With raised eyebrows, Hercules reluctantly took the card and rang it up, “Does Alex know you're paying for him?”

Jefferson gave him a hard look. “I think who's paying for it hasn't even crossed his mind. You should find yourself lucky that I'm paying for it, otherwise you wouldn't be getting anything.”

Hercules scowled, holding back the urge to throw an insult or a punch. He knew how prideful Alexander was and he felt he needed to defend that pride as well.

Shortly after, Alexander returned from the back room with the velvet, green dress shirt on his person and the navy one draped over his arm. The shirt hung on his form in all the right ways. Visibly, nothing was too tight or too loose. The collar of the shirt was just high enough to cover all the marks without looking strange or feeling uncomfortable. He looked to Hercules who was still glaring at Jefferson, and then to Jefferson who had a receipt in his hand. Realising his entrance, they both turned to him and stared back.

“Uh, it fits really well.” He shuffled into the room tentatively, feeling he had interrupted something. “How much do I owe?” Alexander asked.

Hercules spoke up, “Eight-”

“I handled it. We're going to be late if we don't leave now,” Jefferson cut him off and shoved his wallet back into his trouser pocket, heading for the door.

The immigrant's eyebrows knitted together. He stalked over to Jefferson and tried to swipe the receipt from the man's hand, but the southerner was too quick. In a heartbeat, Jefferson raised the receipt in his hand high above both of their heads. “I handled it.”

“This isn't Pretty Woman or something, give me the receipt-” Alexander stretched up on his tippy toes and tried to grab it. 

The harder he tried to reach it, the more Jefferson's sadistic grin grew. “Need a stool?”

Alexander fell back onto the flats of his feet with a huff. He scowled deep into Jefferson's eyes. That smirk was really starting to get old. Meanwhile, Hercules could only stand and watch the odd exchange. 

Without a second thought (because someone like Alexander ran primarily on impulse without any thought of consequence), he lifted his leg up and stamped the heel of his dress shoe straight down onto Jefferson's loafer clad toes as hard as he could.

As if a rubber band had snapped, Jefferson shot down to grab his aching foot without realising what he was doing with a loud curse mixed with a yelp of pain. Alexander immediately snatched the receipt from his hand and jumped away from Jefferson's reach. “See was that so hard?” 

With his head bowed, Jefferson glared at him from underneath his dark head of curls. “You little shit-”

Ignoring him, Alexander inspected the receipt. “Eight-fifty? I can get you the money tomorrow.” He turned his attention back to Hercules and gave a small, cocky wave that came along with his new found confidence from stamping on Jefferson's toe. “See you later, Herc.”

Could he really get that kind of money by tomorrow? He needed to give Jefferson the change for the twenty, plus eighty-five for the shirt. Alexander wasn't great at mental math, but if he had a calculator on him he would know how screwed he was.

The tailor could only nod, staring dumbstruck at the weird, unconventional relationship before him.

Alexander stuffed the receipt into his pocket and strode out the door, “Come on, Jeffershit. You said it yourself, we're going to be late.”

Oh man did it feel so good to do that. He was really pushing his luck today.

XxxxXxxxXxxx 

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I've been really insecure about my writing lately, I don't know why. I feel like there's something wrong, but I just can't pinpoint what it is and how to fix it. If you know, then let me know! Next chapter will hopefully be a lot more content filled when I have time to really focus on this.

Comment, kudo, bookmark, etc!

Also a big thank you for getting this story past 1,000 hits.


	9. UPDATE

OK so it has been a long long time since I've updated this. Essentially because life throws lemons at you and sometimes you squirt them into your own eyes.

But basically, the main reason I haven't updated this in months is because I got a job (advice: never EVER work in food service), college is looming over my head like a death bomb, and because I fell out of love with Hamilton for a little while.

However, I'm back into the fandom and I still have all of my old notes and plans for this fic. That being said, I'm wondering if anyone reading this would be interested in me finishing this fic?

Let me know!

Also I'm so sorry for just disappearing

Update to the update: ok this is definitely going to continue. Thank you for all your lovely comments you guys are amazing. The update will be up in the next week or two. I need to find all of my old notes tbh.


	10. Chapter 10 (9)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!!

A/N: Long time no seeeeee. I'm so sorry again about not updating for like….5 months. Give or take. But yeah I'm back now and I really hope you like this chapter. It's more of a chapter that sets up next chapter, but it is still essential to the story. Basically, it’s not a complete filler.

It's good to be back and I hope you enjoy!

XxxXxxxXxxxXxxx

The cab lurched to a halt in front of a grand hotel with big white columns descending down from its overhang- designed to keep bellhops and patrons out of the rain as they unloaded their things. Fortunately, this time he had remembered to buckle his seat belt. Instead of being thrown to the floor, Alexander emitted a slight choking noise as the strap dug into his jugular.

There were many downsides to being short, but one of the biggest that he found was the fact that seat belts were made for the tall and he was not tall. Average height he would say. On a good day, at least. Seat belts didn't stretch across his chest like they would on a normal human. They always choked him during car rides and he wasn't a fan of it. One of these days he assumed with the right amount of force and god’s will, he would be decapitated by one.

Unfortunately, today was not that day. From moving too much during the car ride, the seat belt was locked and clinging tightly to his body like a second skin. Jefferson let out a snort at seeing Alexander attempting to jam the release hatch of his buckle to breathe again. “Having trouble, pipsqueak?” Jefferson cooed, trying to act like a doting mother to mock him as he paid the driver with a thin stack of dollar bills.

Struggling, he finally managed to press the red button the right way and the death grip of black nylon retracted back into its cave. He gave a ragged inhale and a well deserved glare to Jefferson, “You're just mad I stamped your foot.”

Jefferson gave a haughty laugh as he stepped out of the cab. “No, I’m mad about your lack of manners towards someone who just bought you the most expensive thing you'll ever own,” he retorted. Then added as an after thought, “Maybe besides that chunk of plastic that you call a phone.”

Was it the most expensive thing he owned? Alexander mentally ran through the list of his possessions and came up with nothing but second hand books and goodwill clothing. His cell phone had even been rescued from a garbage bin. The look on the store clerk’s face was priceless when he asked for a charger and a phone plan for the grimy, early 2000s Nokia.

Following suit, Alexander scrambled out of the cab on his own side. Just as he was stepping out of the cab, a speeding, overflowing trolley and a determined bellhop almost mowed him over. The immigrant jumped back flush against the car with a loud curse. 

Possible death was feeling more imminent by the second. Some other worldly being was taunting him with close calls, but honestly he would be fine in that moment to have been run over by an ignorant bellhop. It was very melodramatic of him, but then he wouldn't have to talk to John about their misunderstanding at least.

He wouldn't have to deal with Jefferson anymore either. That fact outranked everything.

Speaking of Jefferson, the southern asshole had walked to the gold painted entrance of the hotel without him. He huffed and slicked his hair back, making sure his bun was at least somewhat presentable. Straightening out his shirt as well, he hurried after him. As he did, Alexander let his thoughts wander back to John.

What was he going to do?

He knew Hercules was right. He had to tell John that he simply just didn't feel the same way. It wasn't simple, though. The immigrant thought something like this would always have a simple answer, but it felt so much more complex now that he was in this position. He groaned, the only people he knew to ever be on the receiving end of unrequited love were the meathead men in the very few romance books that he had read. He always found romance novels to be too cheesy and lack luster.

Now his life resembled one. Great.

He didn't even want to think about the fact that he was neglecting his actual novel. Writing the plan for Washington and dealing with Jefferson had him too preoccupied to even think about it. That wasn't a matter to deal with now, though.

Running a ragged hand through hair, Alexander rushed up to Jefferson's side. He really had to get his thoughts off of John and the fact that he was neglecting his life's work. It was making him feel all choked up and a knot grow inside of his chest. He needed a distraction. Being a nervous mess during a business meeting wouldn't do.

He glanced up at Jefferson.

Alexander's lips split into a sly grin. Annoying Jefferson would work.

Feigning perplexion, Alexander hummed, “Are you aware of the psychological term known as the placebo effect?”

The elitist didn't even spare him a glance as he entered the doors being held open by the doorman. Instead, all he got was a short, dismissive roll of the eyes, “Of course, I'm familiar with the term. Some of us actually received an education, short stack.”

Alexander felt his eye twitch as he bid the doorman a word of thanks. “Well,” Alexander began pointedly as they strode into the bustling lobby that was filled with many patrons in sleek suits similar to that of Jefferson's. “You're sort of like a placebo effect.”

Jefferson hummed disinterestedly as they approached the reception desk, “Oh, really? How did you come to that conclusion?”

With all of the feigned sweetness and arrogance that he could muster, Alexander replied matter-of-factly, “People think you're a great intellectual because of your ‘southern charm’ and wealth. Naturally, people assume you're ahead of the game. But really you're just a pompous prick that was never told his beliefs are shit.”

“You-"

Before Jefferson could say another word, Alexander approached the receptionist with a delighted little smile playing on his lips. Oh, that was so worth it to feel Jefferson internally fuming next to him as he stalked behind him. John was gone once more from his thoughts.

“Hello,” Alexander said politely as if he were an upstanding member of society that hadn't just insulted his boss for the sake of forgetting about his best friend that he literally screwed over. “We’re here to see Mr. Steuben. He should be expecting us.”

The receptionist looked up. First he looked at Jefferson, who was clutching the counter so hard that his hands were turning white while maintaining a face of complete calm. Then to Alexander who bore the most endearing, self confident grin in the world. The light haired receptionist just gave a small nod, “Erm..names, please?”

“Alexander Hamilton and his associate.”

He could practically hear the sound of Jefferson's resolve cracking in the distance.

“I'll call his room right away,” the receptionist muttered, quickly grabbing the phone. Alexander could tell the man wanted to get away from the two of them as quickly as possible. The immigrant refused to look at Jefferson, but he could feel the anger radiating off of him like a ticking time bomb. He didn't have to look at Jefferson to know, however, that he was wearing the perfect face of neutralism. The mask that he always wore. The southerner always seemed to be such a calm man to others, but in reality he could become just as wound up as Alexander in these rare moments.

It felt nice that for once he was making Jefferson untethered instead of the other way around.

The receptionist placed the phone back down onto its hook and turned back to the pair of them. “He’s on the eighth floor waiting in the executive lobby for you.”

Alexander nodded, “Thank you for your time.”

With that he spun around on his heel and happily stalked over towards the elevator and stepped in, not checking if Jefferson was following, but he knew he was.

They sat in a thick silence as the elevator climbed the many floors. Honestly, Alexander was expecting some sort of verbal onslaught by now. Usually Jefferson would have said some sort of retort. It was unnerving. The immigrant fiddled with one of the buttons on the cuffs of his expensive shirt. 

He heard a snort.

Slowly, he dared to glance at Jefferson’s face from the corner of his eye. Jefferson had his hands tucked into his pockets with his usual nonchalance. His head lay back against the elevator. He not only seemed calm, but he was slightly smirking to himself up at the ceiling.

Alexander didn't like it one bit. His eyebrows knitted together immediately, already on defense. “What's so funny?”

“It just occurred to me. You think I have,” Jefferson held up his hands, displaying exaggerated air quotes for dramatic effect, his smirk growing from ear to ear with all the snideness in the world, “‘southern charm’.”

Before he could help it, he felt heat flare up into his face. How does Jefferson always manage to turn his crafty insults into shit compliments? “That's not saying much. The south doesn't set the bar very high.”

Jefferson glowered at him, withdrawing his hands from his pockets and instead crossing his arms over his chest. It was the smallest bit, but Alexander could see Jefferson's jaw was tense. As if he were restraining himself. “Keep it up,pipsqueak. I'll make you proofread an entire nine-hundred paged manuscript on why paper is superior to plastic.” 

Alexander snorted, letting himself develop a smug smirk of his own as his defenses withered. “That sounds like a threat, Mr. Jefferson.”

For a moment, the two sat in complete silence. Both eyeing the other up, daring one of them to make a move. Slowly, to Alexander's surprise, the southerner closed the small gap between them like a cat creeping towards its prey. Alexander's eyes widened the slightest bit as Jefferson stopped right in front of him. The immigrant could feel the man’s body heat and even worse he could smell his cologne. Alexander stared up at Jefferson, refusing to break eye contact even though the close proximity was making him feel extremely uncomfortable. The heat against his cold cheeks and the smell of fire felt intoxicating almost. Jefferson gingerly lifted his hand up and brought it to Alexander's tie. The immigrant's tongue felt thick in his mouth as he bit down on it. He was afraid to even breathe. Not being sure of what was happening was the worst.

The southerner stared down at him with half hooded eyes as his meticulous fingers pinched the sides of Alexander's collar and pulled them up. All the shorter man could do was blink dumbly. The man of many words was silent. Jefferson could always put him at a loss for words and he absolutely hated it. 

Finishing off his handy work, Jefferson grabbed the knot of Alexander's tie and tightened it the smallest increment of too tight in a slightly viscous manner. The immigrant felt all the blood swirl to his ears as he stared back into Jefferson's dark eyes. Once again the look felt so familiar.

Where had he seen that look before? 

He didn't know if it was the situation or the tie choking him that had his breathing labored. It was probably both, though. Just that morning Jefferson was in a fit of rage in his office, holding his tie like this but in a much more menacing manner. That was when Jefferson saw the hickies and deduced that he had slept with a man as well.

This just made the heat in his face grow much worse.

With a smug look, Jefferson finally spoke above a whisper, “Wouldn't want Steuben seeing those spots, Mr. Hamilton.” The breaths tickled his ear and Alexander felt like he was going to either melt into the floor right there or flip and punch Jefferson square in his jaw.

Jefferson stepped back. He stared down at Alexander with a predatory smirk as he surveyed the immigrant's flustered complexion and his frustrated manner. The tension in the small room completely muffled the sounds of the crappy elevator music. It fell completely silent and as if for a second it was just them in the world. It seemed like in these moments with Jefferson, Alexander always managed to forget about the rest of the world; including the things he had seen and done throughout his life.

The elevator dinged, ending whatever weird trance the two of them had fallen into. Alexander blinked dumbly as Jefferson quickly paced out of the elevator. Straightening his tie, Alexander followed after. What the hell happened? His head was fucking swimming something fierce.

Circulations of questions flooded Alexander's head as he stumbled after Jefferson. His head felt so full, yet so empty. It wasn't turning up any answers. He didn't know this emotion and therefore he couldn't place it. 

The hallway that the elevator had led them to was adorned with many dark oak doors of hotel rooms on both sides. At the end of the long stretch of hallway, there was a large room with plenty of light emitting from it. As they walked, Alexander could hear the distant sounds of chatter. Eventually the two men arrived at the room that the voices were coming from.

Really, though, the room was more like a lobby. Just as the deskman had said Steuben would be waiting for them in. The lobby looked like a pleasure pit for businessmen and those alike. In one corner of the lobby was a large bar decorated with many bottles of expensive, various liquors. In the left corner there was a regular cafe that he knew the smell of coffee was wafting from. His stomach grumbled, yearning for the life source that was coffee. Inwardly, he grumbled with it. He couldn't afford coffee now that he owed Jefferson so much money.

By the bar there were luxurious sofas gathered round near a pool table. Alexander could only imagine sitting in one of those sofas. They seemed so soft and plush, he bet he would seep straight down into its cushions if he sat in it. Sort of like a beanbag chair.

Near the cafe there were chairs of the same make as the sofas, but they were spread farther from one another. Presumably to give privacy to the men that decided to sit in that section. 

The most prominent feature of the glistening room with it's fluorescent lights, however, was the amount of men in the room. All of them bore suits that looked of similar material to Jefferson's, but missing the flashy color. Some of the men sat in the cafe section, quietly perusing documents or reading a novel. But the majority were in the bar section. A particularly loud group of men that he assumed were the owners of the voices he had heard, were crowded around the pool table. Each of them enjoying either a glass of alcohol or a cigarette.

Alexander scrunched his nose up. These were surely the elites of New York City. He always imagined himself being in the company of people on the top of the corporate ladder, but not quite like this. Not in the position of an assistant with shabby shoes and hickies hiding under his collar.

The immigrant stayed speechless, turning to Jefferson who was surveying the group of people in the room with the greatest concentration. Finally, Jefferson's look of concentration broke as he spotted his target. Subtly, the southerner pointed to the far end of the room where a stout man sat in the bar area by himself surrounded by the empty, plush sofas.

“That's Steuben. Greet him formally and try not to seem like a coffee boy,” Jefferson remarked arrogantly with a smug pull of his lips as they slowly approached the man.

Idly, he wondered how odd it would look if he were to chokeslam Jefferson in the middle of the lobby. Most likely too odd.

Alexander felt his teeth clamp together as they approached, getting more nervous by each step. He had a nasty habit of clenching down on his teeth to the point of almost shattering them when his nerves got the better of him. Upon further examination, Alexander realized that Steuben had a rather thick bottle of ale sitting next to his chair that was half empty. The man’s face was quite regular in appearance. It was sort of withered like Franklin's, but much rounder and slightly younger. Steuben was also sort of fleshy like Franklin. The most noticeable characteristic, however, was the purple suit that he was wearing. It wasn't an obnoxious purple like Jefferson's, it was much subtler. In Alexander’s opinion, the shade of violet that it was left Steuben looking like a plump grape.

As they approached, the man turned his attention away from his empty glass, glancing up at Jefferson and Hamilton with eyes full of disinterest. “I'm not interested in anything you're selling, boys,” he said. Alexander immediately noticed his obvious, thick German accent. 

Barely, Alexander caught the slight way that Jefferson's lip quirked up at being so rudely addressed. “We’re not here to sell anything, Mr. Steuben. My assistant and I are here from Mount Vernon's Publishing,” Jefferson elaborated as calmly as he could. Alexander held back a snort when he spotted the vein pulsating on Jefferson's neck.

The southerner couldn't stand being even remotely insulted or referred to as inferior. He really must have grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth as he had expected. His comment earlier just proved to be true, no one had ever talked to Jefferson like he wasn't the center of the universe.

Steuben rose a singular, unkempt eyebrow. “Oh? Not exactly what I expected. Ah well, you may sit,” he gestured to the plush sofa in front of him. Respectfully, Alexander and Jefferson did as they were told.

The immigrant tried to sit up straight, knowing Steuben was examining him. When he brought his eyes up, he was proven right. Steuben was staring right at him, rubbing his chin in absent minded thought, “Assistant, you said?” he asked Jefferson, not letting his eyes leave Alexander.

“Yes, I'm his assistant,” Alexander quickly interjected. He would be damned if he let Jefferson answer for him like he was some meager housewife from the 40s. 

Steuben gave a short laugh, setting his glass down on the table next to him that contained the half empty bottle of ale. “So this is Washington's best? Not very impressive. He sent someone that lets their assistant speak over them and an assistant that clearly doesn't know his place.”

Alexander's knuckles tightened, his hands fisting his slacks. He could feel himself clenching his jaw again. He would definitely need denchers by the time he turned seventy without a doubt. The man’s disrespectful attitude was getting old fast. The German spat out ‘assistant’ like the title itself was an insult. 

Jefferson cleared his throat, pulling down on the lapels of his suit to straighten it out. Just as he was about to let out some lame, brown nosing excuse, Hamilton opened up his mouth and let the words flow out. He never had self control when it came to matters such as this. Only on these rare occasions when he knew he had to watch himself.

“Washington sent the assistant that decided talking to you would be beneficial to our company and the assistant that prepared a forty paged plan just for you. Would you like to see it?” Alexander asked, slipping the bound documents out of his bag with a lopsided smile that felt more like he was bearing his teeth. The immigrant glared challengingly at Steuben, digging his fingertips into the crisp stack of papers. He could feel the heat of Jefferson's own glare against the side of his face. It felt like the sort of look he imagined a parent would give to their child.

Jefferson should count himself lucky that he decided to hold back the brewing hurricane of rage in his stomach. If there was one thing in this life that he tried to hold onto, it was his honor. He may come from a life of scraps, but he would never let himself be treated as such. 

To his shock and Jefferson's, Steuben’s upturned lip morphed into a cracked grin, “I would be delighted to see it, Mr. Hamilton.”

Rage dissipating slightly, Alexander gave a stiff nod. He stretched forward and handed off his hard work to the round man. Steuben took the stack of papers in his hands and seemed to ponder over them as he fiddled with the crisp papers in a meticulous manner. “There seems to have been a lot of thought put into this plan,” he hummed as he paged through the sheets of paper, “What is your formal title?”

“Assistant editor,” Alexander answered, squaring his shoulders back, defenses still up. Jefferson sat back into the couch, carefully watching the exchange in his usual, calculating way.

Steuben hummed once more, not even sparing him a look out of respect. He looked through the parts of Alexander's recording of costs and what the company could afford to cut as well as the detailed contingency plan for emergency situations such as the one Mount Vernon's Publishing was currently in. “They should give you a treasury position. Which begs the question, if you know this much about finances and how to fix your current problem, then why are you speaking to me?”

Alexander crossed one leg over the other. Now was the time to shine. “You're Mount Vernon Publishing's primary investor, or at least you were. I did some research and from what I found you used to own a prominent share of our stocks, but then sold them off and quit giving monthly investments that you had been giving for years. My question is why?”

Steuben stayed silent, seemingly thinking of his answer. He grabbed the glass from the side table and slowly refilled it with ale. Bringing the glass to his lips, Steuben replied, “My business is business, Mr. Hamilton. The value in your company's stocks were going down, so I sold them off before they became worth nothing to me.” He paused to take a long drink, then continued, “As for the monthly investments, I stopped those once I saw your profits had significantly fallen. Like any smart man who values their life and their money, I jumped ship.”

It made sense. It made every sense in the world. Alexander bit the inside of his cheek. How was he going to turn this around? If he were in Steuben’s position he would have done the same, loyalty to the company be damned. Alexander quickly racked his brain, searching for the knowledge that he knew was there from the many outdated business books he had read back in Nevis. Persuasion. He had to persuade Steuben somehow.

Beside him, Jefferson sat uselessly. Alexander couldn't tell if the southerner wanted to see him crash and burn or if he was intrigued by what he was going to say next. Whatever it was, it wasn't helpful.

“I understand your motives, then,” Alexander began, thinking carefully. “However, the publishing business is declining for every company,” Alexander's eyebrows furrowed together as his voice picked up an edge to it. 

Jefferson gave him an incredulous look, “Hamil-"

For the umpteenth time that day, Alexander cut him off, “Since the recession hit, less and less people are purchasing any sort of reading material. All profits within the publishing business have gone down and I did happen to find that you purchased stocks from King’s Publishing whose profits are less than ours currently. Why?”

Stone faced, Steuben stared him down. Alexander could hear his heart hammering in his ears and his palms were a sweaty mess. It probably wasn't the greatest idea to call his actions out like that, but it's what happened. He'd had enough of the German’s bullshit.

The round man turned his attention back to the glass that he held. He swirled the liquid around idly as he a grin spread across his face. Next thing Alexander knew, Steuben’s head flew back as he barked out loud, hearty laughs. Bewildered, Alexander turned his head, looking to Jefferson who was just as confused. The southerner’s eyes were as narrow as Alexander's eyes were wide.

Finally, Steuben’s deep laughter dwindled. The man let out a few more chuckles as he wiped a tear from under his eye. “Ah, Mr. Hamiton, I think I underestimated you greatly,” he straightened himself in his seat as he set his glass down once again. Steuben stuck out his pudgy hand right in front of Alexander. The immigrant stared at it before he eventually got the idea of what to do. The immigrant took Steuben’s hand and gave a firm shake to it.

Steuben withdrew his hand and sat back in his chair, fixing his suit, “Truthfully, King’s Publishing has been after my money for quite a while and I finally caved in. I hold no ill will towards Washington, but King has peaked my interest lately. He proves to be a great companion.”

Alexander considered this. Jefferson finally spoke up, “What will it take for Hamilton and I to gain back your favor?”

“I'm going back to my estate up north soon to host a little get together for my investments and future ones this Saturday. I would like you and Mr. Hamilton to join me. Bring something to impress me and I may consider giving my money to Washington once more,” Steuben dug into his pocket, pulling out a small piece of cardstock and handing it over to Jefferson.

Taking the card, Jefferson pocketed it with a small nod. “We’ll be there, then.”

Steuben hummed, taking a large gulp of ale, “Leave me to my thoughts now.”

Alexander and Jefferson quickly stood up, giving a respectful nod as they began to walk away. “Hamilton,” Steuben called.

The immigrant stopped, glancing over his shoulder, “Yes, Mr. Steuben?”

Steuben smiled, gazing at Alexander with a face full of amusement. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

XxxxXxxxXxxx

The two of them walked into Mount Vernon's Publishing. Alexander wore a face full of excitement. In contrast, Jefferson's was pulled into a deep frown and it was quickly ruining the immigrant's mood. They walked towards Burr's office in awkward silence. Any sort of silence between them was worse than when they were at each other's throats. Jefferson let out a few grumbles that he found to be particularly immature. Like a child trying to let their parent know that they were upset. Alexander scoffed, “What's your problem?”

Jefferson shot him a quick glare as they walked, he replied in a low, fierce tone, “Do you know how hard I work, Hamilton? I'm here for about twelve hours every single day, five days a week. Now, I have to relinquish my precious Saturday because of your idiotic plan. I honestly don't have the faintest idea why Washington thought your idea was so perfect when in contrast mine was simple and much less time consuming.”

Alexander crossed his arms. While Jefferson did have a point that his plan would have been less time consuming, Alexander's plan was still far more superior. It wasn't a temporary patch, it was a long term fix. Why couldn't Jefferson realise that? With a scoff, Alexander retorted, “If you could look past your ego, you would see that the minimal amount of work is worth it in the end for the good of the company.” His voice raised towards the end, alerting some of the other assistants that sat in their cubicles. Their heads poked over the large, grey walls, their interest piqued. 

“My minimal amount of work? I'm the one that has to babysit you. Do you have any idea what it’s like to deal with a short, angry little gremlin all day?” Jefferson retorted.

“Do you have any idea what it's like to deal with you? A pompous asshole whose clothes burn my retinas?” Alexander shouted, fists curling tightly. Now everyone within close proximity was staring with their mouths agape. Neither of them even noticed. 

It had been a long long day. Alexander was exhausted and God he was so hungry. He was sure Jefferson felt the same as he did. Hunger, exhaustion, and tension was running high between them.

“Excuse me?” Jefferson placed a hand over his heart like he had been shot. “It's called being well dressed. Maybe you should try it sometime. Oh, wait,” Jefferson fake gasped, “A street rat like yourself can’t afford to!”

“Jefferson! Hamilton!” A loud voice boomed from in front of them. Both of their heads whipped to see who dared to interrupt them. 

It was none other than Burr, standing in his office door way with narrowed eyes and a vein pulsating under the skin on his forehead. “Get in here, now,” he commanded.

Alexander blinked, resurfacing from the rage filled trance that he always fell into when he argued with Jefferson. Burr quickly stepped aside from the doorway, pointing into his office like a master ordering his dogs where to sit. Rolling his eyes, Jefferson smoothed back his hair and stepped into Burr's office. Always left in the southerner's dust, Alexander rushed in after him. 

Burr shut the door behind them and turned to them, massaging his temple with tense fingers. “I'm not even going to ask why you were shouting in the hall,” he sighed and took a seat at his desk with slumped shoulders. “Just tell me how the meeting went.”

Alexander nodded, about to take the only other seat in the room when Jefferson nudged him out of the way and took it. The southerner pretended like he hadn't just committed grand theft chair. He crossed one leg over the other and sat back into it, making himself comfortable.

Alexander glared at him, trying to burn a hole into his head. The immigrant stood awkwardly with his arms crossed over his chest, restraining himself from wringing Jefferson's neck.

Burr watched the odd exchange with one eyebrow quirked. With another sigh he shook his head and continued on, “How was the meeting with Steuben?”

“He wants us to come to his estate tomorrow. All of his investments, including King should be there,” Jefferson spoke, taking the piece of cardstock out of his pocket and showing it to Burr who quickly read the scrawl that was on it. “He asked for Hamilton to bring something that will impress him if we want him to invest in us once more.”

Slowly nodding, Burr asked, “Such as a manuscript?”

Jefferson gave a small, lax shrug as he scratched at the stubble on his chin, “He didn't specify. However, he seemed to take a great liking to Hamilton,” Jefferson added the last part with a grumble. Soon his frown replaced with a smirk, “For that reason I think Hamilton should choose what it is he wants to bring for Steuben.”

Burr glanced up at Alexander who was trying to maintain a look of composure, but in actuality he was absolutely freaking out on the inside. Excitement, yet resentment, swirled around in Alexander's belly. He could prove his worth. This was his ticket into the big leagues, but he wasn't sure what to do. What could he show Steuben that would truly impress the man? He didn't know.

“You want to entrust Hamilton with this task? I mean no offense, of course,” he spoke to Alexander, “But you're fairly new. Are you sure you can handle this?”

“I can,” Alexander gave a determined nod. Really, though, he wasn't completely sure that he could.

Jefferson stood up abruptly, “That settles it then,” he circled around the chair and over to the door. “Hamilton will handle this. He'll go to Steuben’s tomorrow and report back to us-"

Burr crossed his arms over his chest and gave Jefferson an incredulous look. “You'll be going with him, Jefferson. He asked for both of you, after all.” Ignoring Jefferson's pointed glare, Burr continued, “Go to his estate tomorrow morning. Jefferson, I'll leave it up to you to figure out the technicalities such as transportation. Hamilton, I just want you to focus on how you're going to impress him. Have I made myself clear?”

Alexander gave a nod in compliance, but Jefferson just remained glaring and unmoving.

Burr gave Jefferson a strange look. One that Alexander wasn't sure what the meaning of it was. It was a sort of knowing look. One that reiterated the fact that Alexander felt Burr was a quiet man that was capable of tearing down an entire government if he wanted to. “If you have any problems with my plan, you can take it up with Mr. Washington,” Burr spoke coolly, maintaining his knowing look at Jefferson. 

Alexander watched in amazement as Jefferson went ramrod straight in posture and attitude. “That won’t be necessary, Burr,” he growled. With that Jefferson wrenched open the door and quickly left the room.

Dumbfounded, Alexander looked to Burr whose stern expression was completely gone. Instead he gave Alexander a warm smile that was undoubtedly fake, “I'll see you Monday then, Mr. Hamilton.”

Nodding, Alexander left the room almost as fast as Jefferson had. Burr was an eerie person when he wanted to be.

XxxxXxxxXxxx

He sat before the front door of his apartment with his key poised in his hand, pointing right at the keyhole. The key was quickly growing wet from being held in the immigrant's sweaty grasp.  
Alexander knew as soon as he opened his door, John would be alerted that he was home. The walls were so thin it was ridiculous. Sometimes Alexander swore that he could hear the bubbling of his one neighbor's meth lab.

Shaking his head, Alexander carefully pushed his key in and turned it. This was his home and he was exhausted. He shouldn't be so silly. Slowly, he opened the door and closed it behind him as quietly as he could. With a relieved exhale, Alexander sat his bag down onto the floor and began to get changed into his comfy clothes. Once his pajamas, that consisted of a green sweater and plaid pants, were on and his hair was taken out of its hair tie, Alexander dashed into the kitchen and searched his fridge for leftovers. All that turned up was an old bowl of ramen. He stared at the Tupperware container with more sadness than anyone should ever feel about a bowl of ramen.

It was at the same moment that he heard a knock on his door. 

“Shit,” Alexander breathed. He knew he shouldn't be avoiding John, but he was too much of a coward to face him. Too much of a coward to do the right thing.

He was going to ignore the knock when he heard another one with a voice accompanying it. “Yo, Alex! You home finally?” 

Sighing, with slumped shoulders Alexander walked out of his kitchen, leaving behind the ramen, and opened the door with a great amount of hesitance. The door was then thrown open wide as John barged in, embracing Alexander into a bear hug. “Hey, man. How was your day? Ooo, guess what? I made dinner! Wanna come over and eat?”

Alexander blinked stupidly. “Uh, yeah, John. Look, we have to talk, though-"

John didn't even let him finish his sentence as he was already dragging the smaller man out of his apartment and forcefully shoving him into his.

“Talk? Bout what?” John asked with a broad smile as he pulled out a large, steaming bowl of pasta from the kitchen and brought it out to the coffee table. It was a massive bowl of pasta actually. Alexander got the feeling that John had made it specifically for the both of them. 

“Uh-" Alexander stuttered as he was shoved down onto the couch by his shoulders.

“Hold that thought as I get the plates and shit, ok?” John rushed into the kitchen, leaving Alexander alone to his thoughts.

Feeling like he had just been whiplashed, Alexander stared at the blank TV screen. In that moment, he wished that he could escape into it like the girl from the ring. He could only blink as his mind tried to catch up to what was happening.

His phone buzzed in his pajama pants’ pocket, bringing him out of his thoughts. Fishing out his phone, Alexander flipped it open and read the message that appeared on the screen.

Jeffershit: I'm going to text you an address. Be there tomorrow by 8 am or I'm leaving without your ass.

Alexander snorted. He quickly shot a text back, momentarily forgetting his situation.

A.Ham: Pick up lines like that won't get you anywhere.

The immigrant shut the phone and pocketed it. He wasn't even going to worry about Jefferson's reply. At this point he had much more pressing matters.

John returned from the kitchenette with two plates, two forks, and two beers. The cheery man handed Alexander one of the beers. He took it reluctantly, remembering what happened last time he got a little tipsy. 

Relaxing into the couch, John flipped the TV onto a random movie on FX. With his fork he stabbed a pile of pasta onto his plate and immediately began shovelling it into his mouth. Around the noodles he said, “Just wait- this is the best pasta you'll ever have.”

Alexander couldn't help but laugh at his friend’s antics. After all, they were still friends. Maybe he was the one overcomplicating this. Maybe it could all go back to normal. Relaxing a bit, Alexander leaned back into the couch and let himself enjoy the meal that John had made them. The warmth and fullness to his stomach was much appreciated and it was really good if he were being honest. Idly, he wondered if that was because John was from the south. They usually had good food. He would never ever admit that to Jefferson, however.

Whenever the commercials came on, Alexander could feel the cushion beside him sinking more and more towards him. With every commercial, John was moving closer to him. The immigrant felt a lump lodge itself in his throat. He knew it was a smart idea to forgo the beer. 

Once the movie came back on, John was fully pressed against his side. The warmth radiating off him and Alexander's own guilty thoughts were too much.

Sitting up, Alexander grabbed the remote from John and turned down the volume on the TV. He ran a shaky hand over his sleep deprived face, “John we really need to talk.”

John blinked and sat up, worry immediately taking form on his usually, joyous face. It broke Alexander's heart to see it. John placed his hands on Alexander's knees like a very concerned partner, inching closer to him, “Ok, what's up?”

Alexander tried to find the words, but again they weren't there. Well, they were. But he couldn't just say them, could he? They would hurt John. “It's about last night…” 

A wicked grin shaped itself onto John's pout. “It was great wasn't it. I think I did pretty fuckin’ fantastic right, Lex?” 

“Well, yeah- I mean, it was great but-" Alexander inhaled sharply as John moved down from the couch and onto the floor right in between Alexander's knees.

Shit, not this again.

He tried to close his legs, but it just ended up in pulling John closer to him who now bore a complete devilish smile. 

“Buuut?” John singsonged, fiddling with the button on Alexander's pajama pants absentmindedly.

Alexander grasped the cushion below him in a death grip, breath hitching as John began to swirl his fingers teasingly over the area. “But, I'm not sure if- fuck- if this is a great idea.”

John's ministrations paused. Alexander dared to glance down at John who looked back up at him with his wide, beautiful eyes. “How come?” John asked, barely above a whisper.

Tentatively, Alexander began, “Well, I'm not sure how this will affect our friendship. I mean I...I really like you as a friend, John. I don't want anything to happen to our friendship.”

John sat back onto his heels, looking slightly defeated. “So you're saying.. you don't want this?”

Oh, shit. Alexander could see the slight bit of tears starting to well up in the corners of John's eyes. “No, I'm saying I really care about you and I don't want this to ruin what we have between us,” Alexander hurriedly forced out, maneuvering himself off of the couch and down to John's level. He lightly grabbed John by his biceps and rubbed soothing circles into them. He was not the greatest at cheering people up.

In fact, that was a vast understatement.

After a few moments of silence, John finally spoke. “Can’t we still do this and be friends?”

“What do you mean?” Alexander asked, utterly confused about how this whole thing had even happened. Oh yeah, because he was stupid and let it escalate. He searched John's face for any trace of emotion that he could somehow identify to sort things out.

“Like can we still be friends and do this sort of stuff?” John's ears turned a dark shade of pink. “I know it's real fuckin’ cheesy, but I like doing this stuff with you. I like spending time with you like this…”

Alexander still wasn't completely following. The fact alone that someone wanted to spend time with him was enough to throw him for a loop.

“You mean a sort of friends with benefits situation?” Alexander asked gingerly.

John's eyes widened as recognition became apparent on his face, “Yeah! Exactly! If you don't want to that's fine and all-"

Alexander grinned, tracing John's jaw with his thumb. “I want to.” 

No intimate attachments? Just friends? Just sex? That was something Alexander Hamilton could do.

John leaned into the touch sweetly before manhandling Alexander back onto the couch. The immigrant stared as John took on a predatory grin and persona once more, “Now where were we?”

So it had been him who had over complicated things. Everything was all right. He had a best friend who he could have great sex with.

Everything was great. At least it was on Alexander's side.

On the coffee table, Alexander's phone buzzed once more, but it went forgotten. The LED screen lit up.

Jeffershit: Don’t forget about finding something to impress Steuben.

XxxXxxXxxxXxx

A/N: Sorry if there are any mistakes! I really wanted to get this chapter out by tonight because I work all day tomorrow so I skimmed editing. Anyways, I just wanted to say real quick that I love all of my readers so fucking much. You guys have no idea how much your comments on my update made me blubber and cry tears of joy. For about a week I kept shoving my phone into my best friend’s face and screeching “LOOK AT THE LOVELY PEOPLE OMFG THEY'RE SO NICE”. Poor Rebecca. She got used to it eventually xD I sincerely hope that you guys liked this chapter!

Leave a follow, kudo, or a comment to let me know what you think and thank you once again!


	11. ANNOUNCEMENT (again)

A/N: 

Sooo I last posted in October and just oh my god guys- I'm so sorry. Basically, what happened was I got a new job that is highly demanding. I love it, but I was working 30+ hours a week for the holiday season on top of going to school. In addition, I got accepted into university and I've been running ragged trying to scrounge up money to pay for it by writing scholarship essays (I actually won one yay). School has also been quite the shit show and so has my health. Friends, teachers, and random ass people frequently comment how exhausted I look or how much I look like shit. Christmas Eve I came home from work and looked in the mirror and saw the darkest bags under my eyes and I was like holy shit. So because of this I slept all of Christmas break away and it was much needed. My caffeine addiction can literally rival Hamilton's by this point. I've been drinking Monster (the energy drink) mixed with coffee to get through shifts at work and I can still nap right after drinking one. It's just a mess. Also I'm coming to terms that my childhood is over so that's caused a couple of psychotic breaks as well.

THE GOOD NEWS: I've been accepted into college and to be honest I'm not caring about my grades as much anymore and since the holiday season is over my hours have also been dramatically cut. Like I'm down to 10 hours a week (ouch). So now I have much more time!

Even though I fell out of love with Hamilton again, I still like the story that I have created here and I want to continue it. Comments from you guys just make me so fucking happy I can't even think of the correct words to convey it.

To wrap this up, basically expect an update within the month. I literally have the next 3 chapters planned out thoroughly it's just a matter of writing them.

Again, I'm so sorry for the wait and continuously promising an update and then never updating. It will happen this time just give me like a week or so. 

(Happy New Year, too!)


End file.
